
Book . fS7/^ 
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COPYRIGHT DEPOSnV 




W. J. NETTELTON 



POEMS 



BY 

W/J/NETTELTON 



V^fc. «» ^^ • 



PUBUSHED BY 

MRS. W. J. NETTELTON 

LOUISVILLE. KY. 






COPYRIGHT 191 



MRS. W. J, NETTELTON 



PRINTED FOR THE PUBLISHER 

By THE MAYES PRINTING COMPANY 

LOUISVILLE, KY. 



CLA28G012 



i ■ 

*i CONTENTS. 

^ Alone __- 28 

^ Alone 14 

A Bachelor's Advice _ 110 

A Birthday Wish 103 

A Maiden's Song 30 

A Mother's Soliloquy 6 

A Soliloquy 55 

A Young Man's Musings 101 

Beauty 124 

By Thy Love ._._ 125 

Christmas, 1883 118 

Christmas 17 

Christmas Carol 135 

Christmas Ode 15 

Clara, to Her Lover in Exile 57 

Dominis Vobiscum 26 

Easter Time 102 

Faithful are the Words of a Friend 52 

P^lights of Fantasy 23 

Friendship 13 

Friendship's Immutability __ 95 

Gray Hair 21 

Good Templars at Belfast 123 

How Lovely Is This Earth 67 

In Memoriam to Mrs. H. .__ 25 

In Memoriam, Jane Beck _.._ 35 

In Memoriam, Henry W. Longfellow 91 

If You Love Me, Say So 92 

John Petrie, Born 1791 136 

Leave Me Alone 31 

Let the Women Arise 48 

Lines 32 

Lines, Suggested by Sketches Drawn in an Album 34 

Lines to the Southern Lodges 53 

Life's Shadows 138 

Life's Ways 80 

Little Lizzie 81 

Little Words 36 

Lines, Written in a Lady's Album 89 

Lizzie ___ 105 

Longfellow 7 

Ix)ve 4 



Man's Mission _ _ 129 

Man Was Made to Mourn 109 

Memory, No. 1 20 

Memory, No. 2 - _ 141 

My Fatherland 27 

My Own Cottage Home 74 

Obituary on the Death of the Daughter of a Friend .- 87 

Ode, to Belfast Morning News 133 

Ode to the "Ulster General Advertiser" 112 

Ocean Flowers 64 

Old Letters 62 

Our Irish Lodges 42 

Prologue .50 

Prologue 70 

Quae Amissa Salva 10 

Seaside Musings _ 61 

Shakespeare 79 

Sixty Pounds Per Year 106 

Songs of the Loved, Now Dead 112 

Sonnet 121 

Spring 11 

Springtime Dreamings 93 

Submission 3 

Stanza 127 

Stanza to a Child . 18 

Stanza to a Friend, No. 1 37 

Stanza to a Friend, No. 2 131 

Stanza on the Death of a Child 41 

"Thy Will Be Done" 83 

The Penitent's Soliloquy 6.5 

The Sabbath 73 

The Unchangeable 75 

The Memory of the Past 76 

True Friendship 29 

To the Donor of the Editors' Chair 60 

The Soldier's Dream of Home 39 

To "Sister Lily" 78 

To F. H., New Year, 1874 84 

To J. H., at Berlin, 26th May, 1873 69 

To the Wallflower 66 

To the Belfast Mill Owners 5 

To Brother Joseph Mitchell, G. V. T. 9 

To a Lady, on the Death of Her Father 12 

To Good Templars 38 

To the Flag of the Free 115 

To a Daisy 116 

To a Lady Returning with Her Daughter to America. . 122 

To a Lady on the Death of Her Daughter 126 

To a Lady After a Painful Illness 135 



To Kitty Connor, from Her Weaver Boy 132 

To Stella __.. _.. 139 

The Arrow and the Quiver 97 

The Daisy ._.. 98 

The Shepherd's Care 106 

The Emigrant's Farewell 107 

The Soldier's Dream 114 

When the Sombre Shadows Pall 59 

Wish Not To Have Died Young 99 

Work On 113 



POEMS 

SUBMISSION. 

This frail humanity of mine, 
This feeble, vacillating will, 
This soul-unrest that makes me ill, 

Those tranquil shades for which I pine ! 

When shall my frailty pass away, 

And this weak will be clothed with power' 
Or shall there ever dawn an hour. 

To herald me a brighter day? 

Father of mercy, hear, I pray, 

The pleadings of Thy weakest son. 
Help me to say ' ' Thy will be done, ' ' 

E'en be that will whatever it may. 

Teach me submissively to bend 

Beneath the cross that's mine to bear; 
Knowing that He who placed it there, 

Will strength, and hope, and comfort send. 

I cannot understand Thy ways; 

Thou knowest best what 's for my weal, 
Yet something, Lord, to me reveal 

Of what my end — my length of days. 

Grant that to wisdom I my heart 
May so with fervid zeal apply, 
That after this weak flesh shall die, 

With Thee my soiil may have a part. 



POEMS. 

Thou who dost hear and answer prayer, 
My Saviour, one more boon I crave. 
From those I love let not the grave 

Divide me — make us all to share 

Alike the bounties of Thy grace, 

The streams of Thine unceasing love ; 
May we unitedly above 

Dwell in the brightness of Thy face. 



LOVE. 

When morning dews shall cease to bathe 
The rosy lips of Spring's dear flowers; 

When evening zephyrs fail to breathe 
Sweet odours from elysian bowers; 

Or when the moon declines to shed 
Her silver beams across the sea; 

Or when through Flora's fragrant bed 
In vain for honey seeks the bee; 

When azure skies no longer pour 

O'er wood and lea life-giving light. 

Or Summer sun shall never more 
Disturb the dark, chaotic night; 

Ah ! then, and not till then, shall love, 
Heedless of duty, turn aside. 

All powerless the soul to move, 

Or change the ebb of passion's tide. 



POEMS. 

Love, purely born, may never change, 
Till soul and body separate; 

It then by transformation strange, 
Assumes a higher, holier state. 

Thus love, to mortal spirits given, 
Can never, never know decay, 

'Tis strengthened, purified in Heaven, 
And lives throughout eternity. 



TO THE BELFAST MILL OWNERS. 

Is there within the human breast 

One spark of nature yet remaining? 
Or heart to bleed for the opprest - 

Who throng our streets, through want complaining ? 

Ye who in Fortune's carriage roll, 

By every luxury surrounded, 
If ye do own a living soul, 

Behold your work, and pause confounded. 

See those emaciated forms 

Once plump and fair, and gay and healthy, 
Gaze on them now, ye pamper 'd worms. 

For by their wreck are you made wealthy. 

'Twas they who made you what ye are ; 

'Twas they who helped to build your city. 
Through which they pass on Mis'ry's car, 
With none to comfort, help, or pity. 



6 POEMS, 

Oh ! let remorse within you burn, 
And stay the evil ye are doing; 

Nor thus the laws of Nature spurn 
By dark oppression's course pursuing. 

Ope wide thy gates to one and all 

Who in your mills to work are willing; 
Nor from their wages, yet too small. 
Attempt to take away a shilling. 

Do to the poor as you would have 
The God of Mercy do to you ; 

Nor bury in the darksome grave 
Your bright hopes of Eternity. 

Belfast, August 6, 1874. 



A MOTHER'S SOLILOQUY. 

OVER HER DECEASED CHILD. 

My darling child, my fair-haired love. 
Around my heart thou wast entwined; 

Gone from me now to realms above — 
God gave thee, took thee. He is kind. 

I would not have thee back again, 

E'en though my heart should burst in twain. 

Happy art thou, my lovely child, 

And hope burns in thy mother's breast; 

Right well I know thy Saviour mild 
Took thee to His eternal rest. 

I mourn not as the hopeless mourn, 
Nor weep e 'en as the faithless weep ; 

I know that Heav 'n 's eternal morn 



POEMS. 

Will raise thee from the grave's cold sleep. 
And when this earthly house is riven, 
I'll meet thee on the shores of Heaven. 
Belfast, April 28, 1873. 



LONGFELLOW. 

BORN, FEBRUARY, 1807; DIED, MARCH, 1882. 

From out the firmament of song 
Another radiant star is set; 
Ah ! but his rays shall linger yet, 

To quell the passion bred of wrong ; 

To breathe a pure and holy calm 

Within the bosom rack'd with pain, 
To lead the hopeless once again 

To where the soul may gather balm. 

The singer 's voice no more is lieard ; 
Only the echoes now remain, 
Yet, still, all powerful the strain 

Resounds in hearts whose pulse it stirr'd. 

The mother watching by the cot 
Wherein her darling baby lies, 
The big tears welling in her eyes — 

Repeats the poet's glorious thought. 

And kaowing Death cannot destroy 
The life that is the breath of God, 
She meekly bends beneath the rod. 

And mourns in trustful love, her boy. 



POEMS. 

There is no death ! what seemeth so 

Is merely a transition sleep ; 

The grave this mortal part may keep, 
The living spirit, it must go 

To Him who gave it. Thus in time ; 

When all the harvest's gather 'd in; 

When, cleansed from every stain of sin, 
All shall unite in bond's sublime, — 

Then, looking down the streets of gold. 
Where Christ is the reflected Light, 
The poet will, with gladden 'd sight. 

His many loving friends behold. 

Oh, what a mighty pean then 

Shall through the Heav'nly City ring! 

Eternal praises to the King ; 
Who brought from death to life again. 

And all the ransom 'd hosts of Heav'n 
Shall the hosannas loud prolong. 
To sweet accompaniments of song 

On harps of gold, by Angels given. 

And God will look well-pleased, for they 
Are Jesus' Crown of Victory. 



POEMS, 9 

TO BROTHER JOSEPH MITCHELL, G.V.T. 

ON THE OCCASION OF THE DEATH OF HIS DAUGHTER 
MAGGIE. 

Behind the clouds that sweep the evening skies, 

The moon's pure light shines — hidden from our eyes: 

Beyond the veil of death we cannot gaze ; 

Yet there, w^e know% are shed the eternal rays 

Of our dear Father's love, and faith's dim sight — 

(Just as we see the dark clouds fringed with light) 
Beholds immortal day beskirt the night. 
And we, with fainting hearts and hands firm clasped. 
Pray God for strength to hold the hope we've grasped. 

We, in our littleness, can never know 
The full import of this our life below: 
Bereavements come and rend our hearts full sore ; 
But, while we grieve, the Hand of Love doth pour 
Into our bleeding souls a perfect balm; 
It does not stay our tears, but gives a calm 
And trustful resignation to the will 
Of Him Avho spake, and bade the sea be still. 

Dear brother, ope your wounded heart to Him 
Whose eyes at Lazarus' tomb w^ith tears were dim; 
The Saviour, who for friend with friends could weep. 
Stood by you at the grave where angels keep 
Their faithful vigils over Maggie's sleep. 

Do you not know^ — our dearest treasures here. 
Like anchors, weight us down to this dull sphere? 
God's hand, in tender mercy, cuts the rope 



10 POEMS. 

Of earthly loves, and fills our lives with hope — 
Such hope as bears us up beyond the skies, 
Where those we love, in Heaven's immensities, 
Await our coming. Let your heart be strong; 

A little while, and in the Heavenly throng, — 
(But oh! how changed, how exquisitely sweet) 
Your darling friend, your daughter you shall meet. 
Her voice, so sweet on earth — now sweeter grown ; 
Sings ever the new song around God's Throne. 
You'll meet her there, with hers your voice will blend, 
In songs of triumph that shall never end, 
And this world's sorrow, all its bitter strife, 
Will be forgotten in that higher life. 



QU^ AMISSA SALVA. 

Never more on earth, sweet Kitty, 
Will thy childish voice be heard; 

In the bright celestial city 

Thou art singing with the Lord. 

Though we miss thy infant prattle, 
Miss thy simple, sylph-like glee, 

From this sinful world's rude battle 
We rejoice that thou art free. 

For we know that in the region 
Of the sanctified and blest, 

Free from sorrow and contagion, 
Thou art safe on Jesus' breast. 



POEMS. 11 

Safe beyond the heavenly portals, 
Robed in garments saintly pure, 

Cares — the heritage of mortals — 
Kitty, thou shalt ne'er endure. 

And though now we miss the sunshine 

Of thy artless infant smile; 
Though thy little fairy footsteps 

Shall no more our hearts beguile, 

Still thy angel form in Heaven 

Will to us a magnet be. 
And our hearts, now sorely riven. 

Oft will soar in love to thee. 
And when our mission here is o 'er. 
We'll join thee on the other shore. 



SPRING. 



The Winter has been and gone, 
And the Spring is come again, 

And the air is full of the sweet birds' song. 
And glad are the hearts of men. 

The earth is no longer chill 

With the blighting frosts and snows, 
And soft is the voice of the murmuring rill 

That ever and onward flows — 

That ever and onward flows. 

Through meadow and wood and lea, 
Till its sounds are lost in the mighty roar 

Of the dark unfathom'd sea. 



12 POEMS. 

Oh! happy, congenial Spring! 

season of beauty rare, 
What blessings drop from thy vernal wing, 

Refreshing the earth and air. 

Thou comest and thou dost wake 
Dame Nature from out her sleep ; 

And at thy bidding, through field and brake. 
The daisy begins to peep. 

The old and the young rejoice; 

The valleys and woodlands ring ; 
While Nature chants with a heaven-born voice, 

A welcoming ode to Spring. 

hail! thou beautiful Spring, 
With thy mantle fair and sheen, 

May our hearts while ever thy praise we sing 
Ascend to the world unseen — 

Ascend to the world unseen. 

On pinions of grateful love. 
To Him who leadeth through pastures green 

To Eternal Spring above. 
Belfast, April 3, 1875. 



TO A LADY, 

ON THE DEATH OF HER FATHER. 

Deep in my soul, dear maid, can I 

Through sad experience with thee share 
The grief that now bedims thine eye, 



POEMS. 13 

And marks thy fair young brow with care. 
Yet, oh ! forbid it that despair 

Should plant its canker in thy breast, 
Or from thy gentle bosom tear 

The sacred hopes of youthful rest. 
Oh! by thy solemn loss impress 'd, 

Much do I sympathize with thee ; 
For ere by light of reason blest, 

A like bereavement fell on me. 

'Tis meet that we should passive be 

At times that seem so fraught with ill ; 
Nor e'er attempt those griefs to flee. 

So ordered by Jehovah's will. 
But rather let us, trusting still. 

Rely upon Almighty love; 
It will with strength our bosoms fill. 

And lead our wand 'ring thoughts above. 
Then do not let thy sorrow move 

With too deep power through thy soul, . 
But let each trial tend to prove 

That earth is not our final goal. 
Belfast, January 9, 1873. 



FRIENDSHIP. 



Friendship ! bondage pure and holy, 
Light of life's cold chequered way, 

All alike, high-born and lowly. 
Gladly own thy softening sway ! 

Sweetest, purest, rarest treasure! 
Ah! how sad the heart would be, 

'Reft of the soul-soothing pleasure, 



14 POEMS. 

And the bliss that fills thy measure, 
Holy, heav'n-born ecstasy. 

Friendship never speaks unkindly, 

Never takes a part untrue, 
Never does a wrong design 'dly — 

Giveth Virtue still her due. 
Not misfortunes life distressing, 

Ever can pure friendship bend; 
In the heart this sacred blessing — 
Life, hope, joy, and peace impressing — 

Lingers faithful, till the end. 

Never let a link be broken 

In true friendship's holy chain, 
Nor e'er let the word be spoken 

That would start the tear of pain. 
Oh ! how oft a life is blighted. 

And the soul 's dear chain is riven 
By a thoughtless, rash, excited 
Word: thus hearts once firmly plighted, 

On life's sea apart are driven. 



ALONE. 



Here have I wandered many a time 
When the evening spread its shroud. 

And wondered how bright must be the clime 
Behind yonder sable cloud. 

Often I'd soar on the bright moon-beams, 
In fancy, to worlds unknown; 

But thou who didst share those sweet day-dreams, 
Art gone, and I 'm left alone. 



POEMS. 15 

Alone, on the moss-grown bank I stand, 

Where first in our youthful pride, 
We joyfully floated hand in hand 

Down pleasure's entrancing tide, 
I see the flowers we use to tend, 

Round our rough-hewn seat of stone; 
And they still fresh to the zephyrs bend, 

But I sit drooping alone. 

Alone, on the path we use to tread. 

When our hearts were light and gay, 
1 gaze on the charms now^ lying dead 

'Midst the ruins of decay; 
My spirit on Fancy's searching wings 

Hath far through the wide world flown, 
And trembling, I wait the news it brings, 

While my heart still w^eeps alone. 

I wander alone at eve's decline, 

When my breast is sorely riven. 
And mark those celestial orbs that shine 

Through the wide expanse of Heaven; 
And I think when midst the flow'rs I lie. 
And the winds my dirge shall moan, 
Those gems will w^atch from their home on high, 

O'er me, as I sleep alone. 



CHRISTMAS ODE. 

Come, fellow-pilgrims, let us cast 
Aside our cares, our doubts, our fears ; 



16 POEMS. 

To-day the clouds of Death are past — 
The Sun of Righteousness appears. 
Within a manger unarray'd 
The Prince of Peace, Christ Jesus, lay, 
And holy men rejoiced and pray'd. 
As we rejoice and pray to-day. 
Not as an earthly prince came he, 
With royal banners all unfurl 'd — 
No gilded pomp or pageantry 
Announced His entry to the world 
(One star alone the wise men led 
To Jesus' lowly manger bed), 
Who came, our Great High Priest, to save 
His people from a deathless grave. 

Despised, rejected, scorn 'd of men. 
Tasting the world's most galling strife, 
He suffered, died, did rise again, 
The Resurrection and the Life. 
Oh, then, let every heart and soul 
Proclaim the advent of our King, 
Owning with rev'rence His control. 
Whose birth did our salvation bring. 
Subdued in spirit, filled with love, 
Cast all thy earthborn thoughts aside. 
Thy prayerful incense waft above. 
On this auspicious Christmas-tide. 
To Him, the Life, the Truth, the Way, 
The Christian's Hope and Surety, 
Through whose eternal, loving sway. 
Death's swallowed up in victory. 
Then consecrate thy life, thine all, 



POEMS. 17 

To Him who saved thee from the fall; 

Who hath to all His people given 

A sure inheritance in Heaven. 
Awake the song of jubilee — 
To-day the slaves of sin are free I 

The bonds of Hell are rent in twain, 

And man, through Christ, is born again. 
Belfast, December 21, 1876. 



CHRISTMAS. 



Tw^elve months have passed and gone, 
And Christmas comes again. 

To some, with revelry and song, 
To others, fraught with pain. 

Around the festive board, 

Oh ! many a vacant chair 
Speaks sadly of the one adored. 

Who smiled but last year there. 

Perhaps an only son. 

Perhaps a daughter fair, 
Or wife, or husband, who have won 

The heart's best love and care. 

Yes, Christmas comes once more. 
And on his wing he bears — 

Alike to rich and poor — 

Sorrows, and joys, and cares. 

Still let the earth rejoice, 

Christmas should not be sad; 

In it we hear the Saviour's voice 
Bidding the heart be glad. 



18 POEMS, 

Then let our souls ascend 

In adoration pure ; 
Grateful that God His Son did send 

To make our peace secure. 



STANZA TO A CHILD. 

Sweet artless child of innnocence and truth, 
Blest be thy life, and full of joy thy youth ; 
Round thee ne'er may earth's ruthless shadows fall, 
Nor friendships false, nor griefs thy soul appal. 

May bounteous Heav'n, with ever-outstretched arm, 
Shield thee from every danger that would harm, 
And fill thy soul with aspirations pure. 
And hopes and pleasures that must aye endure. 

In this cold world of weariness and woe, 
Oh! ne'er may thou its blighting sorrows know. 
Nor feel the pangs of disappointments sore — 
Of hearts grown cold, so warm with love before. 

Oh ! may protecting angels never cease 
To guide thy footsteps in the ways of peace — 
To strew thy pathway with the flowers of love, 
And lead thy soul to purer realms above. 

Yet, should a shadow e'er thy heart oppress, 
Or any trouble thy young life distress. 
Oh! then, when sorrows heaviest descend, 
This know — thou hast at least one faithful friend, 

Who, next to Heav'n, will never thee forsake, 
Until the clouds of earthly sorrows break, 



POEMS. 19 

And every woe 'gainst which thy soul hath striven 
Melts 'neath the pure and fervent beams of Heaven, 
Belfast, January 29, 1872. 



TO SETH, 
March 18, 1874, 



Accompanying a Floral Peace-offering. 
Sweet, beauteous child of Nature, do thou go and 

intercede 
On my behalf with yonder maid ; for sure, when thou 

dost plead, 

Pure, sympathetic spirits each as thine and hers must 

blend, 
Heav'n smiling on the sacred charms which each to 

each extends. 
I pray thee, go, and in my soul I'll bid dear hope to 

live, 
E'en trusting, as she greets thy smiles, she will the 

past forgive. 
Why should an unkind thought usurp a heart so pure 

and good ? 
Ah ! why should one so gentle wear a cold, resentful 

mood? 
Relentless souls were never made in such a lovely 

mould ; 
Divinely form'd, no dross can e'er contaminate the 

gold. 
Leave me, loveliest messenger of Flora's fragrant 

fold,— 
Oh ! make atonement with the maid whose friendship 

dear I hold. 



20 POEMS. 

Why should she, for so slight a fault, be thus austere 

and cold? 
Or break the chain affection forged in happy days of 

old? 



MEMORY. 



These sweet wild flowers of May, that I 
At early morn have culled for three, 

Must soon their freshness lose, and die. 
As all their sweets and odours flee. 

Theirs are but transitory charms, 
Which scarce are ours until decay, 

With breath that needs must breed alarms, 
Steals all their loveliness away. 

But there's a flower within the soul. 

That bloometh fresh and fair, the while 

Its fragrance breathes a sweet control 
O'er hearts too pure to stoop to guile. 

It is a blossom rare, indeed, 

Which no rude storm of earth can kill ; 
It doth upon the heart's dew feed. 

And shall through time bloom beauteous still. 

Its influence, serenely calm. 

Pervades the heart's most sacred bower; 
And oh ! how potent is the balm 

It gives in sorrow's darkened hour. 



POEMS. 21 

The light of bygone days is shed 

Around its ever youthful birth, 
And when all other joys are fled, 

Ah ! then vre know and feel its worth 

It is a dear, sweet, fragrant flower, 

Still loveliest amidst decay ; 
For as in sunshine, so in shower, 

Unchanging, bloometh Memory! 



GRAY HAIR. 



Some of the dust from the road of life 

Has fallen upon my hair. 
And silver threads from my raven locks 

Are gleaming out here and there: 
And, oh, these meshes of silver gray 

Tell of the moments flown — 
Of the day that's drawing to a close. 

And the night that's coming on. 

But the coming night seems cold and dark 

And my heart is filled with fears, 
As Thought flies backward on weary wings, 

O'er the waste of vanished years; 
And in the castle of Memory 

Few jewels are treasured there; 
But dross and rubbish that tell of earth 

Are visible everywhere. 



22 POEMS. 

Even on the faithful register 

That hangs in Memory 's hall, 
I find only worthless deeds are traced — 

They are dark and blotted all; 
Hence, as approaches the eve of life. 

My spirit shrinks back with fear. 
For threatening clouds o'erspread the sk}^ 

And the night seems very near. 

By faith I turn — in the rosy East 

A beautiful star I see 
Stand o'er the manger in Bethlehem, 

And it seems to shine for me; 
And from the city of golden spires, 

Whose gates just now are ajar, 
I catch a radiant beam of light 

From the bright and morning star. 

And when upon Jordan's restless wave 

I shall launch my way-worn bark, 
The "dust from the road of life," shall fall 

From my tresses long and dark; 
And the lines of care upon my brow, 

And the pain within my breast, 
Shall pass away as my bark draws near 

This beautiful land of rest. 



POEMS. 23 

FLIGHTS OF FANTASY. 

Back through the corridors of Time 

The steps of Fancy lightly tread, 
Conjuring up some quaint old rhyme 

Associated with the dead. 
Imagination leads us on, 

With feelings strange, through dim-lit halls. 
Where once the blaze of Fashion shone. 

And Art's great triumphs deck'd the walls. 

Here artful love hath captive made 

The haughty beauty, who forgot 
(While Cupid with her heart-strings played) 

The lessons Coquetry had taught; 
And while she hearken 'd to the tale. 

So musical to woman's ear. 
All pride subdued, the w^ily veil 

From Nature's charms did disappear — 

And only Nature's self was seen 

In every pulse that thrilled her breast. 
As she, with pure heart and serene. 

Love's sweet enchanting power confessed. 
And here, where cobwebs overspread, 

And startled spiders run a race, 
A ray of sweet remembrance shed 

Doth on the walls a picture trace; — 

The portrait of a dear old friend. 

Whose voice, now silent, once so sweet. 

E'en yet methinks I hear it blend 
As then — rich, full-toned, exquisite. 



24 POEMS, 

Our lives were one Elysian dream, 
"Whose balmy influence was shed — 

A holy, calm, joy-giving stream, 

Where love by kindred love was led. 

Aye, as through Mem'ry's glass we gaze. 

Taking a restrospective view. 
Each happy scene of bygone days 
Is kindled into life anew. 
And thus the while, in peaceful thought. 

We seem as living in the past, 
Ere heart and soul with ardour fraught 

Had chilled before the w^orld's rude blast. 

Those images that graven are 

Upon the tablets of the heart, 
Are by the faithful valued far 

'Fore all the joys earth can impart. 
Oh! blessed heart-dreams, thus to wake 

Such visions of the years gone by ! 
I would not have the present break 

Those heav'n-born flights of fantasy. 

For they around the earth-sick soul 

A hallow 'd charm do exercise, 
Thus oft by Fancy's sweet control 

We soar from earth beyond the skies. 
Where, 'mid the angel host, w^e see 

Those whom we dearly loved on earth; 
Oh! would that w^e, like them, were free — 

Like them to feel the heavenly birth. 



POEMS, 25 

IN MEMORIAM. 
To Mrs. H. 
Into the ground the husbandman doth cast the seed, 
In the full hope that on a future day 
A rich, ripe harvest shall his faith repay ; 
With plenteous golden fruits for all his coming need, 
No doubts prevent his labour, for he knows 
God gives the increase still where true faith sows. 

Into the silent tomb we lay with tearful trust, 
The dearest treasures of our earthly love. 
Assured that in the harvest field above — 

We, in due time, shall find them garner 'd with the 
just; 
There never more can death demand a tomb. 
For all will be eternal, changeless bluum. 

Faith, then, forbids that we should prostrate sit and 
weep. 
As though we had no hope beyond the grave. 
No cloud can darken long the spirit brave. 

Nor give a hopeless hue to this transition sleep. 
In calm submissiveness look up and see, 
E 'en now thy Fannie smiles from Heaven on thee. 

How strange doth seem to us God's all Omniscient 
ways. 
As we behold, with fainting heart. His hand 
Reach forth and gather to the spirit land, 
The one we nursed and watched for many anxious 
days. 
But so it is, Lord, bid our hearts be still, 
Till Thou to us reveal Thy way and will. 



26 POEMS. 

DOMINIS VOBISCUM. 

To J. H. 

Once more Time's finger marks thy natal day, 

Once more thy friend, with greetings warm and true, 

Prayeth that blessings, as the morning dew. 

May ever sweeten and refresh thy way. 

Nature, in course of years, must own decay; 

But such decay precedes a brighter bloom, 

For, from the ashes laid within the tomb, 

The body, uncorrupted, shall assume — 

In Heaven — the joys of immortality. 

Thus as thine anniversaries return, 

And as thy journey shortens stage by stage, 

May thy soul's future all thy thoughts engage, 

And God's own love within thine own heart burn. 

So shalt thou every vain attraction spurn. 

Nor seek in earthly pleasures to find rest — 

That peace which ever blesseth and is blest. 

Within thy bosom as within an urn 

God planteth, as His wisdom knoweth best. 

Then let submission temper all thy life, 
And patient faith its hallow 'd influence shed 
Around thy footsteps, where-so-ever led. 
To give thee strength and courage in the strife; 
For e'en the Christian's trials here are rife. 
And human nature's at the best but weak. 
We fight the fight, and pray our God to break 
The stony heart, and cut, as with a knife. 
From out our being thoughts we dare not speak. 



POEMS. 27 

Thou hast a work to occupy thy years, 

A work which thou thyself alone must do : 

See to it, that the Master have His due 

Proportion of thy time. He sees and hears 

Thy faithful labours — all thy doubts and fears, 

And thy heart's frequent, anxious, earnest prayers. 

He also notes thy sorrows and thy cares. 

And lovingly He bottles up thy tears. 

In token of the sympathy He bears, 

Thus be thy years, or short or long, be sure 

Thou hast in Christ a refuge still secure. 



MY FATHERLAND. 
Land of adoption, though fair thou be. 
There's one to my heart more dear than thee 
And though far from it, still, day by day, 
It blends with the sunshine of memory : 
And often as on thy beach I stand, 
My spirit soars to its Fatherland. 

Stranger, thy proffer 'd friendship I take, 
And kiss thy hand for its hearty shake; 
It fills my soul with the past once more, 
And binds me closer to friends of yore : 
For, stranger, thy smile, however bland. 
Bears nought of the warmth of Fatherland. 

I roam 'mid thy scenes with beauty fraught; 
They fill my soul with a holy thought. 
Which strengthens my dearest hope on earth, 
And bears me back to my place of birth : 
It swells the sail of the barque still mann'd 
By the memory sweet of Fatherland. 



28 POEMS. 

Land of my childhood, where'er I be, 
Alone, or in the gay jubilee. 
Still doth thy spirit within my breast 
Diffuse a power serenely blest, 
Which softly whispers the dear command- 
Remember thy home in Fatherland. 
Belfast, September 11, 1873. 



ALONE. 



The birds are singing their merry song. 

And the world looks bright and fair; 
And the blithesome maids as they trip along 

Entwine in their flowing hair 
The sweet wildflowers of early spring. 

All sparkling with drops of dew. 
And their lightsome laugh hath the happy ring 

Of hearts that are pure and true. 
The sun shines forth from a cloudless sky. 

And a peaceful calm doth reign. 
While the tuneful lark pours from on high 
His welcome to spring again. 
The earth is full of new life and light. 

And sorrow seems all unkno^vn; 
Yet dark and chill as a winter's night 

Is my heart so sad and lone. 

For the birds sing not their songs to me. 
And the world is strange and cold. 

And the youthful forms that now I see 
Are not like the forms of old. 



POEMS. 29 

The flowers alone seem like old friends 

That still doth a sweetness shed, 
As their fragrance through my bosom sends 

A thrill of the joys long dead. 
But I miss the soft, sweet, tender smile, 

And the gentle spirit flown; 
And my heart grows sad and faint the while, 

As, friendless, I weep alone. 
Belfast, May 28, 1873. 



TRUE FRIENDSHIP. 

True friendship only can be found 
Where hearts and sympathies unite ; 

Where minds with kindred thoughts abound, 
And in reciprocal delight 

Joys in the Heaven-born control 

That thus in love links soul to soul. 

Oh ! what an ecstasy doth fill 

The hearts wherein pure friendships blend* 
Each pulse with dear emotions thrill. 

And thus together, friend with friend, 
As if in holy, blissful dream, 
Glide calmly, sweetly down life's stream. 

My soul delights at eventide 

To wander through yon shady grove, 

Oblivious to all else beside 

The voice of confidential love 

Of one who ever at my side 

In me, as I in him, confide. 



30 POEMS. 

To each the other's griefs are known, 
By each the other's joys are shared; 

And angels have around us thrown 

Their sacred spell, and tlius declared 

That Heaven our union doth approve, 

And seals it with eternal love. 

And oft as we together stray 

Where the great branching trees o'erspread; 
Where fragrant flowers perfume our way, 

And sweet the wild birds sing o'erhead. 
Our souls as one to Heav'n ascend, 
To God, our Father and our Friend. 
Belfast, September 3, 1872. 



A MAIDEN'S SONG. 

Two lovely fragrant rosebuds, 
A fern and a sweet heart 's-ease 

One to my thoughts still dearest 
Did gather and give me these. 

The buds, of course, must wither. 
The languishing heart 's-ease fade; 

But mem'ry, changing never. 

Shall the sere leaves still pervade. 

Thus for his sake I'll keep them. 
And talk to them day by day, 

Knowing that he who gave them 

Doth still for my soul's peace pray; 

And when I'm lowly bending 

In prayer, at the throne of grace. 

With ecstasies transcending 



POEMS, 31 

I'll see a brave, manly face; 
And know a bond of union 

Is sanctioned and welded there — 
Where One all love and pity 

Heareth and answer eth prayer. 
And when I 'm sad or weary, 

And he far away from here, 
In buds and fern heart 's-ease 

My lover will still seem near. 

Then with closed eyes I'll listen, 

And fancy I hear the voice 
That oftentimes in sadness 

Made my troubled heart rejoice. 
So I'll e'en keep these fair flowers 

Until the day I die. 
And he who gave them to me. 

Though absent, will still be nigh. 



LEAVE ME ALONE ! 

Folks envy me my happiness, 
And vow I must get married; 

They cannot understand the why 
I've so long single tarried. 

But I am not ambitious of 
Those dear absorbing blisses, 

Which people say can only come 
With sweet connubial kisses. 

I doubt not it is very nice 
To be by pet names called; 



32 POEMS. 

Yea, some may with peculiar joy 
Grow prematurely bald; 

And grateful feel to those fair hands 
Whose graceful skill left bare 

That polished cro\vn, so long obscured 
By dark luxuriant hair ! 

Howe'er, to such transcendant bliss 

I never would aspire; 
The simple joys of odd man out 

Are all that I desire. 

So if, my dear attentive friends, 
Would look some other way, 

A living sacrifice they might 
On Hymen's altar lay; 

And thus they'd feel rewarded for 

The time lost on this bachelor. 

]\Iethuselah Mildew. 



LINES. 

Here, take my phiz. 

But do not quiz 
The lines thereon severely ; 

Not time, but cares. 

Brought these grey hairs, 
That make me olden early. 

The time misspent 
I much repent, 
And vainly try to borrow 



POEMS, 33 



From Nature's breast 
Some hope of rest 
To soothe my bitter sorrow. 

In vain I try 

From thoughts to fly, 
Remembrance will not leave me, 

But ever brings 

Its mental stings 
To torture and to grieve me. 

I would redeem 

The past, but seem 
As if I were unable ; 

I on life's sea 

Appear to be 
Like ship just slipt her cable. 

Oh ! do not blame, 

But let me claim 
The sympathy and kindness, 

And think each day, 

Whene'er you pray, 
Of him who mourns his blindness. 

From heart so pure, 
A prayer must sure 
Acceptance find in Heaven ; 
And God above 
Will look in love. 
And I shall be forgiven. 
Belfast, June 16, 1874. 



34 POEMS. 

LINES. 

SUGGESTED BY SKETCHES DRAWN IN AN ALBUM. 

Those leaves whereon thy hand hath traced 
The full, rich fruit, the pure, sweet flowers, 
Shall be through all life's dreary waste 
Dear souvenirs of fadeless hours; 
And though our lots far distant be, 
(For who may draw aside the vail 
That hides futurity, and see 
What change we'll welcome — what bewail?) 

And though the heart no tribute needs 
To keep the place of friendship green, 
Yet faithful memory oft-time pleads 
Something that may be felt and seen ; 
A photograph, a braid of hair. 
Some trifle from a darling friend; 
Ah ! with what deep, impassioned care 
O'er such with votive tears we bend. 

Tears, not of sorrow nor of joy, 
But just a blending of the two; 
This life hath need of some alloy 
To make us feel the good and true. 
How oft the woeful parting hour 
Doth come ere we can realize 
With what pure, sympathetic power 
Hearts may be linked in friendship's ties. 

But when that blackest hour of all. 
The sable hour of death, has cleft 



POEMS. 35 

The chain of true affection's thrall. 



Ah ! then, life hath but little left, 
And we, a-wearied heart and soul. 
By faith would dare to pierce the gloom. 
And penetrate the sacred goal 
That lies beyond, above the tomb. 
And hold communion sweet with those 
Our dear ones passed from death to life. 
joy ! if such an hour might close 
Our eyes on all this toil and strife. 

But God forbid we e'er should grow 
Ought but submissive to His will, 
Whatever He appoints we know 
Is best, e'en seems it good or ill. 
'Tis but a little while till we 
Shall be with those we've laid to rest, 
And what we now but dimly see, 
We'll then behold with vision blest. 



IN MEMORIAM. 

JANE BECK, 



Died 26th March, 1879, Aged lli^ Years. 

Oh ! sad was our hearts when the Angel of Death 

Came into our garden one day. 
And took from our treasures a blossom, whose breath 

Was the fragrance and light of our way. 

God planted the flower Himself, for He knew 
Our heart-strings would round it entwine; 



36 POEMS. 

He meant not to leave it on earth till it grew 
To see our affections decline. 

He only intended the flower to stay 

Till it gathered our soul's deepest love; 

Then, wrapt in its bosom, to bear us away 
From earth to the Eden above. 

Oh ! Father of Mercies, we do not repine, 

Nor wish for our Jennie's return; 
"We know she is with Thee, and that she is Thine, 

And Faith doth forbid us to mourn. 

And, though oft our longing hearts tremble with pain. 
Yet Thou makest our sorrow sublime, 

For we know Thou wilt bring us together again — 
That our parting is but for a time. 

Then make us, with patient submission, to wait. 
Assured that Thou shortly wilt come, 

To lead us, Thyself, through the Eternal Gate, 
To our loves in the Heavenly Home. 



LITTLE WORDS. 



Little words addressed with feeling, 
Quickly reach the stricken heart ; 

Full of power, full of healing. 
Drops of comfort they impart. 

Many are the bosoms sw^elling 

'Neath a world 's oppressive woe ; 



POEMS. 37 

And deceit still keeps expelling 
From us all that's sweet below. 

Life is dark — its paths uneven; 

Snares beset us everywhere; 
Friends apparent are deceiving, 

With a well-feigned tender care. 

And the world's loud voice is ever 
Breathing forth the bad alone; 

But its finger pointeth never 
To the good that we have done. 

Yet the heart, howe'er forsaken — 

Though its pleasures all be dead — 
Will to rays of joy awaken. 
If a word is kindly said. 
Belfast, August 14, 1866. 



STANZA TO A FRIEND. 

Should e'er the chilling storms of life 

Across thy path extend. 
Rejoice e'en in the world's cold strife, 

And know thou hast one friend. 
However rude thy griefs may be, 

Hope on, they'll pass away; 
Oh ! do not fear, sincerity 

Yields not its soothing sway. 

Ah! do not let a vain despair 
Thy heart or spirit bend, 
But triumph o'er each earthly care; 



38 POEMS. 

Nor doubt thou hast a friend — 
Yea, one who would protect thy peace, 

In honour guard thy fame, 
And make the tongue of slander cease 

Ere it defiled thy name. 
Thus faithful ever to the end 

Shalt thou in joy confess thy friend. 
Belfast, May, 1873. 



TO GOOD TEMPLARS. 

Belfast, February, 1871. 

Templars, what's your duty here? 
'Tis to comfort and to cheer — 
'Tis to save from sin and shame — 
'Tis the drunkard to reclaim — 
'Tis to point to God above, 
As the fount of peace and love. 
Templars, earnest be and true 
In this work you've got to do. 

Join together heart and hand, 
Be a faithful, working band, 
Go about in Jesus' name, 
Fallen sinners to reclaim; 
Though the work should be uphill. 
Onward! be your watchword still- 
Zealous ever in the cause. 
To suppress the liquor laws. 
Templars, do your duty well. 
Work for Heaven, save from Hell, 



POEMS. 39 



And when Satan's bonds are riv'n, 
Your reward — a crown in Heaven. 



THE SOLDIER'S DREAM OP HOME. 

Night came and closed the portals of the day, 
While on earth's de^vy pillows slumbering lay 
A wearied soldier, who, with blood-stained arms, 
Sought brief repose from battle's stern alarms. 

Brave heart is his that never feared a foe ; 
Yet merciful and kind, if, helpless lying. 
He found a foeman wounded, sick, or dying, 
Without a friend to stay his life-blood's flow. 

A fearful day of fight had just expired. 
With sacrifice of life as yet untold; 
Men, whom at morn the war trump 's call inspired. 
At night lay mangled where they fell — and cold 

Unconscious widows sleepless lie in bed. 

With love's sweet pledge clasped fondly to their 

breast ; 
And trembling wonder if amid the dead 
The idol of their life has gone to rest. 

Their pillows, wet with many a silent tear. 
Bespeak the bitter anguish of the soul. 
Alas ! what mockery to enter here 
With hopeless hopes the blighted to console. 

And he, whose eyes kind Sleep hath gently closed, 
Unmindful of the carnage and the din. 



40 POEMS. 

Dreams of the home where he in youth reposed 
And in his dreaming blithely enters in. 

Seated around the blazing fire he sees 
The partner of his joys — his children three ; 
With cheerful face he takes his chair of ease, 
And gently lifts his youngest on his knee. 

His wife, good soul, as is her wont, prepares 
The evening meal, then seats her by his side ; 
While he, forgetful of his toils and cares, 
Drinks in the love-glance of his faithful bride. 

She makes his home a paradise on earth. 
Her smiles, like heav 'nly shadows, cheer his life ; 
Within their home no impulse e'er gave birth 
To angry looks or bitter words of strife. 

An honest, upright, noble man is he. 
Whose heart with purest sympathies doth swell ; 
A ready hand is his if he should see 
A case of need, though no one e'er can tell 
Save him who, in the hour of dark despair, 
When, almost faint, with hunger and distress. 
Receives substantial tokens of his care, 
And doth in tears his benefactor bless. 

And here he sits amid domestic joys — 

A loving husband and a happy sire ; 

His eldest children — both fine manly boys — 

List to his story, while a latent fire 

Burns in the breast and kindles in the eye 

As he relates how bravely soldiers die. 



POEMS. 41 

And thus his mind through dreamland wanders back 
To all the old familiar scenes of love. 
Well he remembers every beaten track 
Where he was wont at eventide to rove. 

The rustic seat before his cottage door, 
The old gnarl'd tree, whose branches overspread. 
The pastor, who with heart devout and pure, 
Long years the seeds of peaceful hope had shed. 

How sweet the dream that thus his heart can thrill. 
He seems 'mid scenes of early joys to dwell. 
But hark ! the bugle 's voice both clear and shrill 
Blends wath the air, and rudely breaks the spell. 
Up quick he starts — half w^aking, rubs his eyes ; 
His dreamings change to war's realities. 
Belfast, 1874. 



STANZA ON THE DEATH OF A CHILD. 

Ye parents of the dear, departed Kate, 

Why do ye weep for her whom Death hath slain ? 

Aw^ay with tears, and let your joy be great, 
For this your loss is eternal gain. 

A tiny blosom in the spring of life, 

A flow'r of innnocence and beauty rare. 

The chilling blasts of sin and worldly strife 

Their fetid breath and blighting influence ne'er 

With vital touch had seared its peaceful bloom. 

Laying it low in sorrow's deep, dark tomb. 

Let peace your bosoms swell, for is not thine 

The hope that cheers the true believer's heart — 



42 POEMS. 

The sacred promise breathed by lips Divine — 
In Heaven, with Me, the righteous have a part. 

And now in very truth has been fulfilled 

This gracious promise to your darling child ; 

She knew no grief, for earth's rude storms were 
stilled 
Till she departed, pure and undefiled, 

To Him whose heart with love to children fraught, 

Said — "Suffer them to come; forbid them not." 

Oh ! cease to weep, and learn by faith to say, 
Thou, Lord, did 'st give, and Thou hast taken away ; 
Blest by Thy name, Thou source from Avhence doth 

Flow 
The strength and hope that buoy us here below; 
Soothing our griefs, assuaging all our fears. 
Calming our souls and drying up our tears. 
Leading our thoughts from ruin and decay 
To heav'nly joys, throughout eternity. 
Belfast, June 2, 1874. 



OUR IRISH LODGES. 
By Bro. W. J. Nettelton, P.W.C.T., No. 10. 

In our "Crusade" 'gainst intemp 'ranee. 

We want no flagging zeal; 

Each "Patriot" must within his breast 

No cowardice conceal; 

And in the "Vanguard" every soul 

Must God's good spirit feel — 

Our warfare is for "Freedom", 



POEMS. 43 

Love, and "Hibernia's" weal. 

Ye daughters of the "Shamrock" Isle, 

' ' Aurora ' ' smiles on you — 

Behold the promised mercy in 

Yon ' ' Rainbow 's ' ' varied hue ; 

And to the God of "Wisdom" 

Let your hearts in prayer ascend, 

That He, from Heaven's "Crystal Fount," 

Eefreshing joy may send, 

To fill the world with "Harmony", 

"Consistency" and Truth, 

And make each home a " Watchtower, " 

To guard the tender youth. 

And on our noble "Enterprise", 

The "Morning Star" will "Dawn;" 

And "Havelock" the "People's" hope. 

To "Victory" shall lead on; 

And great will be our "Triumph," 

Our "Hope" for "Better Days," 

And on "Mount Zion's" "Fortress," we'll 

Our "Red Cross" ensign raise; 

And round our "Crimson Banner" 

The ' ' Hope of Derry ' ', we, 

With "True and Faithful" hearts, shall form 

A "Band of Unity." 

Ho, "Forward," to the "Rescue," all, 

"Advance", ye true and brave. 

With "Hopeful" hearts your "Lifeboat" steer 

To yonder wreck and save. 

Fear not old "Neptune's" angry roar, 

"Minerva," she will guide 

Thy bark of "Royal Oak" safe o'er 



44 POEMS, 

The dark, accursed tide. 

Though "Triton" blow his fiercest blast, 

Still be ye firm and bold, 

For soon the "Exodus" of sin 

Through drink, we shall behold. 

Let each a "Conquering Hero" be. 

Beneath the ' ' Rising Sun ' ' ; 

Nor faint in "Perseverance," till 

The "Olive Branch" be won. 

The memory of "Saint Patrick," 

Like "Sunlight" shall be shed. 

And "Ireland's Glory,"— "Erin's First," 

Fond hope, no more be dead. 

Then from the ' ' Fountain ' ' of the heart, 

Brave men, no longer slaves. 

May sing within their "Home of Peace," 

"Britannia" rules the waves. 

And "Home, sweet Home," with wondrous power, 

Will like a "Magnet" be. 

To draw each link of friendship close. 

In true "Fidelity". 

Oh! let the "Emerald" put forth 

The "Hand of Friendship" too. 

And like the "Good Samaritan," 

Love's labor still pursue. 

Encouraging that "Unity," 

Which gives us strength to do. 

Upon our "Royal Standard," may 

This motto aye be seen, 

"Excelsior," Excelsior, 

In bright and golden sheen. 

Let "No Surrender" be the cry. 

As "Onward," hard you press, 



POEMS. 45 

Yea, ''On to Victory", God will 

Your ''Good Endeavor" bless. 

" Invincible "must be tlie heart 

Of every "Volunteer", 

Till all mankind a "Refuge" find, 

And "Brighter Days" to cheer. 

The "Coldstream Guards" we'll join, and fight 

For our "Victoria's" King, 

Our "Bulwark" God— each "Village Hope" 

Will a "Bright Future" bring; 

And each true Christian heart will beat 

Within a "Champion" breast, 

And in the "Ark of Safety," man 

Will "Anchor" safe at rest. 

For on our "Ark of Refuge," 

The "Star of Peace" will shine, 

The "Dayspring" of the "Conquerer," 

Our "Pioneer" Divine. 

The Lord's our "Rock of Safety," 

Our "Star of Freedom," who 

Will ' ' Shield ' ' us from our great ' ' Extreme, ' ' 

And be our "Guardian" through; 

And brave "Sir Wilfred Lawson" 

Shall as a "Lighthouse" stand, , 

A "Beacon" raised by God to shed 

"Protection" o'er the land; 

To bring "Prosperity" and joy, 

"Domestic Comfort" too, 

And make men live like those good men — 

"John Wesley," "Thomas Drew," 

And "Alexander Riddell," 

And "Captain Boyd," the brave, 



46 POEMS. 

Who did the tempest dare, and died 

His fellowman to save. 

Our gallant Chief, "John Pyper," 

Still lives to lead us on, 

Through him, the ' ' Hope of Erin, ' ' 

We shall victors be anon. 

The ''Star of Ulster "—" Star of Hope," 

With pure, transcendent ray, 

Will be a never failing light 

Upon our rugged v\^ay. 

"Nil Desperandum, " this shall be 

Our watchword through the night, 

"No Compromise," — a "Happy Home", 

We'll win, for this we fight, 

Our hearts in ' ' Concord ' ' will unite, 

None may "Dictator" be. 

We must with strong "Decision" strike, 

And set the captives free; 

Yea, show them how they may "Reform," 

Ere numbered are their days. 

And to the "City of Refuge," 

Direct their wand 'ring gaze; 

And speak to them of Christ, who is 

Our "Vindicator" still. 

Our "Star of Zion", who our "Ark 

Of Hope" with joy shall fill. 

0! "Star of Bethel", "Guilding Star," 

"Protector" of the good, 

"Provider" for the souls that are 

In want of heav'nly food. 

In this our "Prohibition" war. 

Sustain us by Thy hand, 



POEMS, 47 

Till Thy '' Message of Peace" shall come 

To gladden all our land. 

Thou bright ''Star of Bethlehem," 

Herald of sacred peace, 

Shine down upon our stricken earth, 

And bid our bondage cease. 

Greater than gold or "Diamond" wealth, 

The bliss we hope to gain, 

When love, joy, happiness, and health 

O'er drink's fell pov/'r shall reign. 

Oh I haste the time v» lien all tlie vrorld 

]\Iay shout with one accord, 

"Eureka!'' I have found the peace 

That Cometh from the Lord — 

When we shall "Brighter Prospects" reap, 

With sickle, not with sword. 

Then, Vviien tl:e storm and struggle's o'er. 

Through which our bark is driven. 

We'll find a rest on "Eden's" shore. 

The "Welcome" rest of Heav'n. 

]\[y brother, sister, be thou steadfast still. 

Nor flinch when duty bids thee firmly stand; 

Work with a holy, pure, unselfi.sh v,ill. 

To drive this blighting curse far from our land. 

Thou art thy brother's keeper, bear in mind — 

To thee, to all, this sacred trust is given, 

To raise the fallen, and to lead the blind 

Upon the straight and narrow path to Heaven. 

Stretch forth thy hand, the drunkard to reclaim, 

Nor shut thy heart 'gainst pity's plaintive cry, 

But breathe into his ear that Saviour's name. 

Who, sinless, came for sinful man to die. 



48 POEMS. 

Oh ! think of Him, and let thy bosom swell 
With pure philanthropy and heav'n-born love, 
Nor blush to save a trembling soul from hell. 
Or lead a wanderer's thoughts to skies above. 



LET THE WOMEN ARISE. 

'Gainst the tide of intemp 'ranee that sweeps o'er oui^ 

land, 
'Gainst the traffic that ruins the souls we most prize, 
'Gainst the drink-fiend that palsies our young — hand 

in hand 
Let our true-hearted women in phalanx arise. 

By the mother's deep anguish, the sister's distress, 
By the wife's bitter tears and the daughter's heart 

sighs. 
By the Lord who hath promised His people to bless 
Let the brave Christian women of temp 'ranee arise. 

By the fond loving ties that doth bind us to earth, 
And that blend with our hopes of a world 'bove the 

skies ; 
For the joy of our homes, for life, virtue and worth, 
Let our women in God's name undaunted arise. 

By that dreadful hereafter, the drunkard's sure doom, 
Where the fire's ne'er quench 'd and their worm never 

dies; 
By the intellects locked in insanity's tomb 
0, women, as angels of mercy, arise! 

By this dread social curse that with pestilent breath 
Robs the heart of its feeling, and dims the bright eyes \ 



POEMS, 49 

Now to sweep from your tables this spirit of death, 
All ye pitying, long-suff 'ring woman arise. 

Let the incense of prayer from the heart's depths be 

giv'n 
To Jehovah who heareth the soul's faintest cry, 
In His name strive on just as others have striven, 
And still labour in faith knowing God's help is nigh. 

! sister, awake to the work that 's before you, 
'Tis not a mere sentiment, as too well you know. 
It is right against wrong, 'tis joy against sorrow. 
It is raising the dear ones Avhom drink has brought 
low. 

To you God has given a pov\'er peculiar, 
An influence, which, rightly used must avail, 
Then gird on the armour of faith and be stirring. 
Nor cease till the blessings of temp 'ranee prevail. 

And mothers and sisters and sweethearts and fathers ; 
With hope in their hearts and with tears in their eyes, 
Will feel the warm love-light illumine their bosoms. 
Through the women who faithful to duty arise. 

The work is uphill, but the victory's certain. 
For is not our army led on by the King? 
And when in His own time He parteth the curtain. 
Revealed, He His foes to confusion will bring. 

Ye women who fight the good fight and with patience, 
Still labour the poor despised drunkard to save. 
Oh, rejoice, for yours is the Lord's approbation 
And life's fadeless crown bevond Jordan's dark wave. 



50 POEMS. 

But your v»'ork is not finished yet, hark to the cries 
Of your drink enslaved brothers, 0, women arise. 
May, 1886. 

PROLOGUE. 

We gather around the Christmas fire, 

We sing our songs and we tell our stories, 
Kind thoughts and tender our souls inspire. 

And deeds of love are our greatest glories. 
The world's great festival (ever new. 

Though for eighteen hundred years repeated). 
We celebrate with reverence due 

To Him who Death and the Grave defeated ; 
And our hearts are humble, and full of praise, 
Sustained and kept by the Ancient of Days. 

As we look back thro' the years gone by, 

And think of the blessings v/e've been reeeiv 
ing— 
Think, too, how the Tempter has led us nigh 

To the gulf of death by joys deceiving. 
How thankful should we not be to Him 

Whose merciful care is never-ending. 
Who through the noon-day and twilight dim 

The gifts of His love is ever sending -, 
He, knov/ing us feeble and prone to sin, 
Guards our going out and our coming in. 

Forgive me, brethren, if I intrude 

Upon your circle around the hre, 
I know the Giver of all that 's good 

This day is each of your heart 's desire ; 
Ah,who, as the days roll by, can tell, 



POEMS. 51 

When another year brings Christmas meetings, 
If we shall the fireside circle svrell, 

And as now exchange our friendly greetings; 
Dear brothers, it matters not if we 
Meet on the shores of Eternity. 

Life's journey is three-score years and ten, 

But few indeed ever reach the distance. 
And those who grow to women and men 

Have hard to fight for a brief existence. 
But then the heart of the Christian beats 

With hope that's strong and with faith that's 
thorough ; 
For he remembers the bloody sweats 

Of Him who drank to the dregs of sorrow. 
And he looks to the Saviour 's loving care 
For the strength that's needed earth's cross to 
bear. 

friends, as we sit here cosy and Vv^arm, 

Spinning our old-time yarns and singing. 
How many are out in the world's rude storm. 

Whose hearts the bitterest wants are wringing. 
Let us do whatever v/ithin us lies 

To comfort the friendless, poor and needy. 
Nor shut we our ears to the children's cries — 

'Tis not by their own works they are needy. 
Theirs is the heritage wretched of sin. 
For fathers and mothers spent all in gin. 

Oh, to think this beautiful world should be 

Thus blotched and blurred by the curse of 
drinking. 



52 POEMS. 

And that to a hopeless eternity 

So many thousands are yearly sinking. 

'Tis sufficient to make the heart depressed, 

As we vainly plead with friend and neighbour. 

But we pray our efforts may yet be blest — 
That God will prosper our earnest labour; 

We know our Father, and we believe, 

If we ask in faith, we shall receive. 

It may be the answer will be delayed, 

Till we have entered thro' death's dark portal. 
But the friends for whom we have pled and prayed 

We '11 meet when we reach the fields immortal ; 
And the wreaths of love which are entwined, 

Through many a gloomy night and morning, 
We'll see (as we never on earth divined) 

The courts of eternal rest adorning. 
Then with patient zeal let's labour and wait, 
For the harvest's sure, tho' it may be late. 



FAITHFUL ARE THE WOUNDS OF A FRIEND. 

' ' Faithful are the wounds of a friend ' ' ! 

Tongue ne'er breathed a maxim more true; 
And he who keeps silent, from fear to offend. 

Is false to his God and to you. 

Trust not to the flattering tongue. 

However seductive its praise. 
Your best friend is he who, with arms round yon flung. 

Will lead you from error's dark ways. 



POEMS. 53 

Who liideth your faults is your foe, 

Deceit in his bosom doth reigu; 
But a friend will assist you your errors to know, 

And help you to wipe out their stain. 

With love and with sympathy pure, 

He'll lead you where vice never trod; 

And point you to joys that forever endure. 
Up, up in the Cit}^ of God. 

Let Faith in your bosom burn strong, 

And Hope cheer your soul with its light; 

Let Charity crush out oppression and wrong, 
And 'stablish Love, Freedom, and Right. 

While the drunkard is bathed in shame, 

And the sinner is unreclaimed, 
Though the world may your zeal and your candour 
blame. 

Of the truth be never ashamed ; 
Thus use the talents which God has given, 
And guide the weak in the path to Heaven. 



LINES TO THE SOUTHERN LODGES. 

^^HoPE OF Erin.'' 
Belfast, 

PEAL out! peal on! sweet temp 'ranee bells. 
Peal out, ye ^^BelVs of Shandon;'* 

And let your music wreathe its spells 
Of love, from CORK to BANDON. 



54 POEMS, 

Awake the song of jubilee, 

Erin's sons and daughters! 

Unfurl the standard of the free 

O'er '^ River Lee's" calm waters. 

May temp 'ranee truth the South o'erflow, 
From fair KINSALE TO BLARNEY ; 

Make peaceful homes God's blessing show, 
From DUBLIN to KILLARNEY ! 

The ^'Water-Course/' which onward flows, 

Is God's own wise creation; 
It brings to men nor griefs nor v;oes, 

Nor worketh desolation. 

Then, sister, brother, keep thy vow. 

Despite all foes assailing; 
The great reform we aim at now 

Will soon be all-prevailing! 

Our dear old land will yet arise 

Supreme above this evil, 
And 'stead of sorrow's rending cries, 

Will taste of joys primeval. 

And o'er tlie earth will float the song 
Of temperance, pure and holy ; 

And angels Vvill the theme prolong 
Of grateful hearts and lowly ! 

let us work with purpose true. 
And place our trust in Heaven ! 

God surely will this fiend subdue, 

'Gainst which true men have striven. 



POEMS. 55 

Go, and in God's name do not cease 

Nor weary in thy labour; 
By prayerful pleadings go, release 

From drink's curs'd bonds thy neip^hbour. 



'o" 



Go to the hamlets of the poor, 
Go to the sick and healthy. 

Go, leave a blessing at each door 
Of humble and of wealth}^ 

And when thy task on earth is done, 
'Midst scenes and sins distressing, 

Thou 'It rest secure — thy victory w^on!- 
Crowned with immortal blessing ! 

July 24, 1877. 



A SOLILOQUY. 



I am sad betimes, and I know not why, 
I want for nothing, my health is good; 

And God, who dwelleth beyond the sky, 
Provides me raiment, supplies me food, 

And all along life's chequered way. 

His strength sustains me day by day. 

I have hands to work w^hen there's work to do; 

I have books to read, and a mind to think, 
I have friends who love with a friendship true ; 

My brain is cool, for I never drink. 
No thirst should heart or soul e'er know, 
While God's pure streams of mercy flow. 



56 POEMS. 

I have fellowship with the stars at eve, 
And Nature's book is a book of lore, 

Wherein I find a sublime reprieve 
From earthly toil as I con it o'er, 

And I've communion sweeter far 

With Him who made and guides each star. 

And the face of earth is a smiling thing. 

That gladdens the heart and charms the eye. 

From its bosom unbounded pleasures spring, 
Yet I am sad, and I know not why. 

Others, worthier far than I, 

Lie crushed beneath adversity! 

Is it the unsatisfied heart of man 

That fills my soul with a craving sore? 

An ungrateful spirit that never can 

Be content with wealth from Nature's store. 

The world, the flesh, whatever it be. 

Lord, from its power, now set me free. 

Saviour, who dwellest in Heaven above. 
On Thee may my feeble heart rely, 
Send down Thy bright beams of eternal love. 
And cause my sadness to fade and die. 
Raise my thoughts 'bove the things of time, 
Fill my life with a peace sublime. 

Oh ! pardon me. Father, my discontent. 
And may I gratefully Thee adore; 

The blessings Thou hast so profusely sent. 
Grant me to enjoy, nor wish for more. 

Save the unchangeable rest of Heaven, 

When earthly affections and bonds are riven. 



POEMS. 57 

CLARA. 

(to her lover in exile.) 

When fades the sun behind the West, 
And birds have sheltered in their nest ; 
When wildwood flow'rs their petals close, 
And Nature sleeps in calm repose, 
I wander out beside the sea, 
To think of thee. 

To think of thee; for thus must I 
Forever lonely dream and sigh. 
Deep passion throbs within my heart 
(In which no pulse of hope hath part) ; 
For still must roll 'twixt thee and me 
The mighty sea. 

Others may yearn, and, hoping, live. 
Feeling assured that time will give 
The prize for which their souls do wait, 
In trustful patience, at Love's gate; 
But I in sadness love alone. 
For thou art gone. 

Time was when both our hearts beat high 
With bliss we never thought could die. 
When first young Love his mantle threw 
In ardent folds around us two ; 
Thus long we happily did glide 
Adown life's tide. 

But hidden 'neath its waters lay 
The rocks that wreck my life to-day, 
For evil Fate hath from me torn 



58 POEMS. 

My heart's dear idol, and I rnoiirn 

As one who sorrows for the dead — 

Earth's hopes all fled. 

Yet while I live this restless sea 
Must on its bosom bear to thee 
The love, the anguish of my soul. 
And bring me from its distant goal. 
From thee, a zephyr kiss, a sigh, 
Until I die. 

Until I die, ah me, my breast! 
When shall thy throbbing be at rest? 
The strife, metliinks, must soon be o 'er ; 
Then I shall on a brighter shore 
Experience the love, the bliss, 
Denied on this. 

Look thou upon the Ocean, and 
As the waves touch thy native land, 
I'll gaze, and fancy I can trace 
Reflected there my Oswald's face, 
And, grateful, I will kiss the sea 
That mirrors thee. 

My exiled darling, could 'st thou know 
What tears of bitterness and woe 
Thy Clara sheds. Yet I v\^ould not 
Add to thy grief one more dark thought 
Each hath enough, and more of care 
Than human nature well can bear; 
So let it be, anon the grave 
Will bring the rest our souls do crave. 
And I no more shall vreeping be 
By this sad sea. 



POEMS. 59 

WHEN THE SOMBRE SHADOWS FALL. 

When the sombre sliadows fall, 
When the pale moon on thy wall 
Charms the silence of the night 
With her tranquil, silv'ry light; 
When the Spirit of the breeze. 
Sighing through the rustling trees, 
Dips his pinions in perfume, 
Then disporting through thy room, 
Shakes the odour from his wings, 
While ^olus softly sings 
To thee liis unwT-itten lay. 
Weird, enchanting lullaby. 

Dost thou, then, fair lady mine. 
On thy silken couch recline? 
Undisturbed by vain alarms, 
Soothed by these nocturnal charms. 
Say, dost thou thine eyelids close 
In that sleepless, calm repose, 
Dreaming dreams the heart doth mould 
Of the blissful days of old? 

Doth thy fancy lead thee near 
To those hallow 'd scenes so dear. 
Where together we have spent 
Hours to us significant ? 
Mirror 'd in thy soul, dost thou 
Cherish still the sacred vow. 
Pledged beneath the fruitful Lime 
In our 3^outh 's brigiit summer time ? 



60 POEMS. 

If thy waking dreams are thus 
By love-links connecting us, 
Know that I, too, share with thee 
That pure light of memory; 
And my day-dreams point me on 
To a glorious future daw^n , 
When my heart shall realize 
That love-life for which it sighs. 
Belfast, February 12, 1876. 



(For tpie Riverside Weekly.) 

TO THE DONOR OF THE EDITOR'S CHAIR. 

Oh, blessed be thou of the thoughtful mind. 
With a soul so true and a heart so kind. 
That knowing the Editor's toil and care, 
Hath provided him with an easy chair. 

'Tis not in the heavenly world alone 

That angelic spirits are felt and known, 

There are forms on earth which the Lord hath given 

As the sweet reflex of the ones in heaven; 

And their sympathy cheers us, day by day. 

And their smiles illumine our rugged way ; 

While their words of counsel give strength to bear 

The battle we otherwise scarce would dare. 

0, w^oman, how little thou knowest thy power 
To lighten the darkness of sorrow's hour! 
Or the sacred balm of thy pure control, 
'er the doubts and fears that arrest the soul ; 
Else, if thou didst, thou wouldst surely give 



POEMS, 61 

Thy presence, in which it is bliss to live, 
And the weak who totter beneath their load, 
Would enter afresh upon Virtue's road. 

God bless thee, dear lady, whilst here below 

The streams of thy sympathy sweetly flow; 

And as drunkards flee from their sin and shame, 

They will breathe this prayer in the Father's name; 

May Providence long the editor spare, 

To proclaim the truth from thy easy chair. 

Belfast, Ireland, October 30, 1875. 



SEASIDE MUSINGS. 

By the restless, sighing sea. 

On its melancholy shore; 
Where the seamew circles free — 

Where the crested waves sweep o 'er ; 
There I wander, sad and lone. 

And my heart, (like the wild sea) 
Breathes an ever throbbing moan 

For the rest that cannot be. 

Shadows of a buried past 

Rise like spectres on the wave. 
And each cold and hollow blast. 

Seems a voice from Hope 's dark grave ; 
Yet bright spots are here and theve 

Seen amid the ebb and flow. 
And the heart's great sea of care. 

Intervals of calm doth know, — 

Just as in a thorny mound. 

By the shore, all bleak and bare. 



62 POEMS, 

I a lovely Heart 's-ease found, 
Blooming exquisitely fair. 

Not the saline atmosphere, — 

Nor the frequent blighting storm, — 

Weirdly howling far and near, 
Could disturb its patient form. 

So amid the thorns of life. 

Sad, yet beautiful, may we 
Mingle in the common strife; 

Clothed with love and charity, 
Wheresoe'er our feet may stray, 

Or whate'er our lot below, 
Still upon life's chequered way, 

Joys and griefs alternate flow. 

Whether, therefore, life to me 

Bring happiness or care, 
God will aid me equally, 

Joy or bitter cross to bear. 
Thus still trusting in His grace, 

I wdll cast earth's cares aside, 
And with patience run my race. 

Safe to win through Him who died. 



OLD LETTERS. 



Old letters, burn them not, for they 
Are written portraits of our friends; 

Some near, some dead, some far away, 

And some — but here our knowledge ends 

For time, and unforeseen events, 



FOEMS, 63 

Have sever 'd sweet communion's chain, 
And nevermore in earthly tents 

Shall we those dear ones meet again. 

We close our eyes, and oft recall 

The smiles that once illumed our WTty: 
For mem'ry, faithful unto all 

Its old affections, doth portray 
Those dear loved forms of early youth 

(Ere sorrow's cloud had swept across 
Our path), whose earnest love and truth 

We mourn, and vainly count our loss. 

Our hearts their letters now enshrine 

As sacred monum^ents of love; 
We read them, and a light divine 

Attracts our yearning souls above : 
For sure we know our dearest ties 

Are those for whom our tears are shed, 
Whose spirits rest beyond the skies. 

Freed from a world all cold and dead. 

Soon will the love chains — all that bind 

Our hearts to this vain earth— be riven; 
Then will affection's links (refined 

In God's pure fire) unite in Heaven, 
Wliere never more nor care nor woe 

Shall cause the heart to ache or sigh ; 
There purest joys eternal flow. 

And friends love on, nor change, nor die. 



64 POEMS. 

OCEAN FLOWERS. 

These are not weeds! they are ocean flowers, 
From Neptune's garden, and shell-girt bowers. 
And bright in their beautiful tints are they, 
As they come prismatic with saline spray; — 
Sure there never was cultured plant more fair 
Than these wild sea tendrils of Nature's care. 

Yes, they are the blossome the sea-nymphs wear 
Entwined in the braids of their sheeny hair. 
And the storm King often forgets his wrath 
When Neptune's daughters sweep o'er his path, 
And around him their dripping garlands fling, 
While their sweet songs they to the blue waves sin^ 

Ah ! these are not weeds, they are sacred flowers. 
Which the Naiads fling us from coral bowers. 
Dear souvenirs of the fathomless deep. 
Where many a loved one doth calmly sleep ; 
Unconscious of all the tears that are shed — 
Till Ocean is made to give up the dead 
Who peacefully rest in its crystal caves. 

Unmoved by the storm of the restless waves; 
0, treasure them up — these gems of the sea ; 
And let them be flowers, not weeds, to thee. 
November, 1882. 



POEMS. 65 

THE PENITENT'S SOLILOQUY. 

Thou, my heart, all crushed and bleeding sore, 

Nor for thine own infirmities alone; 
God knew, doth know, they weakness, and wdll pour 
On thee His saving grace, then wherefore moan, 
Thou dost repent, and Jesus doth atone. 

In inexperienced youth-hood idly led — 
Through inactivity of heart and mind, 

The subtle paths of thoughtlessness to tread, 
I paused not to consider, but as blind 
Follow 'd a course my soul had ne'er divined. 

The snares of sin, so cunningly devised 

To trap unw^ary youth, around were spread, 

Where'er I went I only realized 

The poison 'd charms before which Virtue fled 
In tears of anguish for her glory dead. 

Yet still the spark of Nature's purer light 
Had not extinguished altogether been. 

One touch divine dispell 'd the gloom of night. 
And holy Virtue once again was seen 
Through penitential tears, oh, how serene ! 

Awaken 'd thus by that unchanging Love 
Which NEVER yet its sympathy refused, 

1 trembling saw the Majesty above. 

Whose loving kindness I had so abused, 

And weeping, prayed until mj^ bonds were loosed. 

Yet, now, while striving to redeem the time. 
Urged on by sad remembrance of the past. 



66 POEMS. 

While yet my struggling soul would higher climb, 
Some, not all sinless, at my life would cast 
The stone of slander, and my spirit blast. 

Is there no pity in the human heart ? 
Hath Christ no imitators here below? 

Who would by kindly words and deeds impart 
Some consolation, and in Lethe's flow 
Conceal the frailties none should wish to know. 

At peace with mankind, and at rest with God, 
So would I live, and so I fain would die. 

Submissive still to kiss the chast'ning rod, 
Which Christ in merc}^ only doth apply 
To fit His children for the Home on high. 

May God forgive the heartless ones who steal 
Remorselessly the joy for which 1 pine, 

And in their souls. Great Father, make them feel 
That in Thy sight their sins are dark as mine, 
And that, like me, they too, need grace divine. 

TO THE WALLFLOWER. 

Meekest of unassuming flowers. 

That boastest no rich, gaudy hue. 

Nor jewell'd hand to tend thy bowers. 
Nor lips to kiss away the dew 

That in the morning brightly lies. 

Like tears of love, Vvdthin thine eyes. 

How oft a bird on thoughtless w^ing 
Has let thy tiny seedlobe fall, 



POEMS. 67 

Which, through the winter until spring, 

Has slept upon a barren wall, 
While Nature's sure preserving care 
Guarded its bed, all bleak and bare. 

But when autumnal chills were past, 
And winter's snows had disappeared. 

When spring's bright sun diffusive cast 
His resurrection beams, the sered 

And death-like seedlobe — scarce entomb 'd, 

Into a fragrant Wallflovv^er bloom 'd. 

And ev'ry zephyr passing by 

Did circle gently round its stem, 
And with each soft and plaintive sigh, 

Kiss'd odours pure from Flora's gem, 
Then onward speeding, breathed around, 
Where'er it went, the bliss it found. 

So, like the simple Wallflower, he 

Who meekly walks in duty s Vv^ay, 
Is pleased, whate'er his lot may be. 

To scatter good where'er he may; 
And e'en though humble, still his po\ver 
Is fragrant as the sweet AVallflower. 



HOW LOVELY IS THIS EARTH! 

How lovely is this earth of ours. 
With all its lakes, and woods, and flowers! 
The far-off sky, with azure hue. 
Bespeaks a world more briglit and true. 



68 POEMS, 

Young Spring, in vernal, sweet array, 
Hath swept o'er scenes of past decay. 
Proclaiming lovely Nature's birth 
In fragrant floral gems of earth; 
These ope their grateful hearts anew, 
And drink of Heaven's life-giving dew, 

The airy songsters sv/eetly raise 
Their heartfelt roundelay of praise; 
And all the earth that's pure and fair 
Doth an Almighty Power declare. 
But man, with soul dissatisfied, 
Yearns for a something else beside • 
A faithful heart with his to share 
Those tributes of our Father's care; 
A love responsive to his own — 
Without this man must feel alone. 
Belfast, March 11, 1872. 



POEMS. 69 

TO J. H. 
At Berlin, 26th May, 1873. 

'Twas a terrible ein 

You to go to Berlin, 
'Mongst heathens who cannot speak plainly; 

But gabble and spout, 

God knows what about, 
And eat, drink, and smoke most insanely. 

As for Dr. Ebell, 

I to him would fain tell 
The thoughts of my mind, and that freely ; 

But this step I forego, 

As the Dr. I know, 
No more than I did Fanner Greely. 

In his pocket your cash. 

Let him go cut a dash, 
Good Dr. Ebell the pedantic. 

I only can wish 

That some German dish 
]\Iay cure him of notions romantic — 

And send him again 

'Mongst civilized men — 
To Christians beyond the Atlantic. 

I'll cease my complaints. 

If the Isle of the Saints 
You visit again — with your mother — 

This pleasure alone 

Can ever atone 
For the sins of the Dr. — none other. 



70 POEMS. 

Christmas Number of The Irish Templar. 
PROLOGUE. 

That old thief of our youth, how silent and swift 

The wheels of his chariot roll ! 
Life 's barque scarce is launcJied on the ocean of Time 

Ere it reach the farthermost goal. 

'Tis well that the Pilot who steers it along 
Is One who — tried, trusted, and true — 

In sunshine or storm fills our hearts with a song 
Of faith that will bear us right through. 

In health and in strength, both of body and mind, 
Have we throughout life been sustained ; 

Our wants all supplied by His bountiful hand, 
Who giveth us bliss unrestrained. 

And when, in our moments of thoughtlessness, we 
Some dangerous course would pursue, 

The eyes of our consciences openeth He, 
And makes us the evil eschew. 

Experience strengthens our hope and our trust, 
And our hearts know no danger nor fear ; 

While we own with gratitude still more robust, 
The Lord's mercies renewed year by year. 

On last Christmastide, my dear Squire, you did call 
A circle of friends round your hearth ; 

Your generous hand you extended to all, 
And your smile to gladness gave birth. 



POEMS, 71 

Again, after twelve months of weary routine, 

Your kind invitation 's renewed ; 
Thank God for His providence on this life's scene, 

Last year's guests may all be reviewed. 

At Denby's old Hall Vv'ith its memories rare, 
Of England's best, bravest, and true, 

We gathered last Yule-tide your good things to share. 
And to pay grateful homage to you. 

This year to the beautiful seat of j^our friend, 

In Erin's dear Isle, we are come; 
And our hearts with pleasures intensified beat, 

For sure there is no place like home. 

Great God, grant that when for us time is no more, 
When the angel his trumpet shall sound. 

Our spirits, redeemed, on Heaven's briglit shore, 
May in thine own circle be found. 

This desire, this hope, bears our hearts bravely up, 
'Bove life's disappointments and care; 

In Bethlehem's manger our longing eyes see 
Our Ransom from deathless despair. 

Thus our Christmas greetings are full of a jo}^ 

Unspeakable, pure, undefiled; 
And our pleasures are purged of their dross and alloy, 

While we think of the Holy Child ; 

And as from the manger we follow Him on. 

Till He reaches Calvary's hill; 
Oh ! how bitter, we feel, must have been the cup 

Which the sin of a Avorld did fill. 



72 POEMS. 

And our hearts are bowed with repentant grief, 

In presence of God most high, 
And we pray for a purer life — to Him 

Whom we daily crucify. 

And we ask Him to guide our footsteps where 

His wisdom would have us go; 
Though the way be rough, if He leadeth there, 

'Tis enough for us to know. 

Our steps to His guidance we must submit, 

If our peace we w^ould secure; 
Ah ! surely the love that came down from Heaven, 

"We can trust it to endure. 

Let our stories, our songs, and our converse be such. 

As will not the conscience offend; 
Nay, let us with holy ambition aspire 

God's kingdom on earth to extend. 

Wide is the world's field, and the labour is great, 

But the workers are idle and few; 
Let us pray for the Spirit to guide us aright, 

In the work that is ours to do. 

God knows our infirmities, and He has said, 
"As our day so our strength shall be;" 

Sure His promises reach far enough for us. 
E'en through Time and Eternity. 

And now let me thank you, my worthy host. 

For the dignity you confer 
In placing for me — your most humble guest — 

At the head of your friends a chair. 



POEMS, 73 

I shall not now longer delay the course 

Of the pleasures you have in store, 
But trust that our greetings this festive time 

May be followed by many more. 

So in pure water let's drink to the health 
Of the friend whom we all hold dear, 

Our host, God bless him, this Christmas-tide, 
And send him a happy New Year. 

And a bright, a happy, and hopeful year, 

May't be to us each and all. 
And with earnest hearts let us work, and wait 

In patience the Master's call. 

And if in His name and strength we've striven 

His will and His work to do. 
Be assured there awaiteth us in Heaven, 

A peace which the world ne'er knew. 



THE SABBATH. 



Come, weary mortal, cast aside 

The burden of thy care; 
This day subdue thy haughty pride, 

And give thy heart to prayer. 

This day, most blessed of the seven, 
Shun earth's corrupted ways; 

And by thy humbled soul be given 
A sacrifice of praise. 



74 POEMS. 

To him, the Prince of Peace, who died 

Thy ruined soul to save; 
To Him, who death and hell defied, 

And triumph 'd o'er the grave. 

This holy day do tliou repair, 

With gratitude and love. 
Unto God's house; He'll meet thee there. 

And lead thy thoughts above. 

Through His appointed servant, He, 
In love, will speak to thee; 

Will soothe thine oft infirmity, 
And bid thy troubles flee. 
Belfast. 



MY OWN COTTAGE HOME. 

Oh ! give me my home in the forest shade. 
Free let me roam through its floral glade; 
Give me, oh, give me, my cot 'mongst the trees. 
Where I may feel the soft kiss of th^ breeze. 
Oft when a little thing, bosom serene, 
Lightly I've tripped o'er its surface of green, 
Sung my sweet song in its pure halcyon bowers, 
Twined in my hair its wild, infantile flowers. 
There hath the Redbreast, Avith vrarbling so sweet. 
Perched himself close by ray mossgrown seat ; 
His song to me now is the purest of lays, 
Transporting me back to sunnier days. 

Give me, oh; give me, my calm rustic cot, 
Where first dear mother my infant lips taught. 



POEMS. 75 

Breathing her love hopes in watchings and care, 

Bathing my tongue in the language of prayer, 

Oh ! take me back to the scenes of my youth, 

Ere I forget all their innocent truth; 

Take back the gifts of the world's fashioned store, 

But give me mine own dear cottage once more; 

Give me again the pure haunts of the past. 

Ere life's waning sun for aye be o'ercast, 

Nor ask me again tlirough this world to roam 

But oh ! let me rest in the bosom of home ; 

And 'midst those bright scenes so familiar and pure, 

Life w^ill again be more sweet to endure, 

And at the last in a bright floral bed 

Lay me to sleep with my own kindred dead. 

Belfast, September, 1874. 



THE UNCHANGEABLE ! 

One Friend there is above all other, 
Who sticketh closer than a brother ! 

Proverbs xviii. 24. 

Hast thou a faithful friend? 

Of all the treasures born of earth 
A true, tried friend, excels in worth, 

But e'en this bond must end; 

And we our hallow 'd tears will shed 
For loved ones gone before, not dead! 

With strong and trusting heart. 

We plant our feet upon the grass, 
Nor deem it covers a morass, 



76 POEMS, 

Till, trembling, back we start; 

Oh, oft we mourn the dismal swamp 
We fancied bore true friendship's stamp. 

Thou hast no need to fear; 

Though all the ills of earth assail, 

God's promises can never fail, 
His arm is ever near, 

And He will shield and strengthen thee, 

In sickness or adversity. 

He is best friend of all. 

Eternal, changeless, boundless love ! 

Ah ! how it draws our hearts above, 
Released from every thrall. 

The SHEPHERD'S voice so tender— true, 

Speaks comfort still to me — to you. 

Oh, then, with patient soul. 

Let us await — whate'er betide — ; 

The Bridegroom's coming for the Bride, 

The dead-seas backward roll, 

The great ingathering to the fold. 
The crov/ns of life, the harps of gold. 



THE MEMORY OF THE PAST. 

There is a spirit that doth shed 

An influence serene ; 
It wakes with holy power the dead 

Enchantments that have been. 
It flings a halo round the soul, 



POEMS. 77 

Unchilled by Time's dull blast, 
It is a pure, a sweet control — 
The mem'ry of the past. 

There is a liglit of fadeless truth 

Which shone in bygone days, 
And wove around the soul of youth 

Its calm congenial rays; 
E'en now, when life begins to wane, 

Its beams around us cast 
A bliss that bears no darkened stain. 

The mem'ry of the past. 

There is a lamp, and oh ! how bright 

Its mystic glories beam. 
And with the past our hearts unite 

In one soul-soothing dream; 
And when the darken 'd clouds of life 

Our pilgrimage o'ercast, 
'Twill cheer us through the mortal strife, 

The mem'ry of the past. 

There is a voice, e'en from the grave 

Its hallowed sounds can move. 
In accents pure as when it gave 

The first fond proof of love. 
And as a talisman its tone 

Shall guide us to the last; 
Nor may it fade till life be gone, 

The mem'ry of the past. 



78 POEMS. 

TO "SISTER LILY." 

Howsoever rough or rugged 

Be the path we tread, 
Faith still points us to a haven 

Of repose ahead. 

And our work, howe'er unpleasant, 

If Divinely plann'd, 
Will seem light, if we accept it 

From our Father's hand. 

So when Duty claims obedience, 

Mercy hears the call, 
Angel-like her gentle footsteps 

Round the sick couch fall. 

Young and old around are lying, 

Jesus is her charm 
As she speaks with sick or dying. 

Calming their alarm. 

Old and young, diseased or wounded. 
By their pains endear 'd. 

Surely are, in her sweet presence, 
Infinitely cheer 'd. 

She, the gentle, sympathetic. 
Tender nurse and friend, 

Ever, by her touch pathetic, 
Renders smooth the end. 

Often, too, this prayer is uttered, 
By those weak ones there; 



POEMS. 79 

''Lord, when making up Thy jewels, 

In Thy mansions fair, 
Let there shine amongst the brightest 

Yet, this gem so rare." 



SHAKESPEARE. 

Tercentenary, April 23, 1864. 

Is there on memory's page a name imprest 

So deep as that of him whose peaceful rest 

Has long been undisturbed on Avon's shore — 

The king of poets and of Nature's lore? 

On this auspicious day he seems to live, 

And to each soul inspired pow'rs doth give 

To swell the praise of that immortal name. 

Wreathed in the laurels of ne'er-dying fame; 

His pen, the sceptre of his mighty mind, 

Wielded at will with power undefined, 

Ne'er fail'd to picture on the world's wide stage 

The haughty sovereign and the humble sage, 

With such true pathos that 'twould seem, indeed. 

He could the heart's unbosom 'd passions read, 

And paint in shades of language richly blest 

The varied feelings of the human breast. 

0, Shakespeare; thou vrhose bright immortal star 

Hath long poured forth its glory from afar, 

E 'en now it shines with brightness more than when 

Thyself had traced it with thy glowing pen; 

The monument which thine own genius raised 

Stands in the world still more admired and praised. 



80 POEMS. 

LIFE'S WAYS. 

Mortal, as through life's dull maze, 
Thou thy lone course dost pursue, 

Mark how tangled are its ways, 
All its difficulties view. 

Trials here, temptations there. 

Snares and dangers everywhere. 

See the hand of Poverty 

Draw the curtain of distress, 
Making dark with misery 

All that bears her sad impress. 
Starving children bathed in tears, 
Mothers aged, but not with years. 

Watch the well-trained, youthful mind. 

As it goes to join the strife. 
How temptations undivined, 

Hail it on its course through life. 
Pleasures weave their subtle chain 
Round his dreaming heart and brain. 

Mournfully behold the man 

Of ungodly parents born, 
On his brow with pity scan 

Vice where Virtue should adorn. 
Scorn him not, he never knew 
'Twixt right and wrong, 'twixt false and true. 

Ever in the world's wide sea. 

Run deep currents not a few, 
Flowing to Eternity, 



POEMS. 81 



Full of joys and sorrows too. 
Let us keep our helms hard down, 
Lest amidst the shoals we drown. 

All are soldiers marching on, 

Through the foe's ensnaring plain 

Some grow weary, faint, anon, 
Others glorious victory gain. 

If the Sword of Truth is ours, 

What care we for Satan's powers. 

None of us can stand alone. 

Other help and strength we need ; 
God hath promised us His own. 

If for it we humbly plead. 
Let our conscious souls still pray 
For fresh courage day by day. 

None of us should e'er proclaim 
To the world another's fall, 

But if possible reclaim, 

And the weak one re-install, 

Still rememb'ring how that we, 

Too, are frail mortality. 



LITTLE LIZZIE. 



Little Lizzie, darling child. 
With thy blue eyes soft and mild, 
And thy golden ringlets too. 
And thy cheeks' transparent hue; 
Oh ! what love do we not see. 
Blest and to be blest in thee ! 



82 POEMS. 

Flower of a golden Spring, 
Blooming fair and promising; 
]\Iay the sun of health still shine 
On that sylph-like form of thine; 
And the dews of peace impart 
Joy and vigour to thy heart. 

Little maid of simple truth, 
Artless in unconscious youth ; 
Not alone thy tender years. 
All our anxious love endears; 
But the hope that every Spring 
Thou celestial fruits may'st bring. 

We behold thee, little one, 
Beaming brightly as the sun; 
Laughing in thy childish glee — 
Type of Heav'n-born purity; 
And we pray that God may spare 
Thy young heart from knowing care. 

May thy gentle spirit soar, 
Not this earth of sorrow o'er, 
But to that bright sphere above. 
Where the angels dwell in love; 
And when earthly ties are riven, 
May thy soul find rest in Heaven! 
Belfast, June 5, 1869. 



POEMS. 83 

''THY WILL BE DONE." 

Thy Will Be Done : Great Father, teach 

My trembling heart to breathe this prayer, 
Till I by faith Thy presence reach, 

And find a loving answer there. 
Where'er I am, whate'er I be. 

May I my race in patience run, 
And with my thoughts still fixed on Thee, 

Contented, say, "Thy Will Be Done." 

Though o'er my pathway shadows fall, 

And one by one friends pass away, 
Art Thou not dearer far than all — 

Thou FRIEND of changeless sympathy? 
And shall my heart ungrateful prove, 

Or sorrow so my senses stun. 
That I, forgetful of Thy love. 

Shall cease to say, "Thy Will Be Done." 

My wayward spirit oft rebels 

Against the Hand whence mercies flow. 
For, charm 'd by earth's unhallow'd spells, 

Frail nature shrinks to let them go. 
Yet heart and soul would struggle on. 

Till over self the triumph's Vv'on, 
And then, rejoice when all is gone. 

And gladly sing, "Thy Will Be Done." 

Thou knowest all my doubts and fears, 

Thou seest all my care and grief. 
And ofttimes Thou hast dried my tears, 

Oft sent me comfort and relief. 



84 POEMS. 

Then make me, Lord, submissive still — 
Beneath the shade, or in the sun. 

To feel Thy love my bosom fill. 

Still trusting, pray, ''Thy Will Be Done.' 



TO F. H. 
New Year, 1874. 



May joy from every source divine, 
Clematis-like around thee twine. 
And with sublimest pleasures cheer 
Thy life through many a changing year. 
And when old Father Time shall shed 
His snowy flakes upon thy head, 
Be thine the peace by Virtue won, 
So prays thy true friend — 



GO, WORK IN MY VINE\"ARD. 

Go thou into My vineyard, saith the Lord, there's 

much to do; 
The labour is so plenty, vvhile the labourers are few; 
Pause not to ask, "what special task shall first thy 

hands employ?" 
Begin just where thou standest, there is work for man 

and boy. 
There are young and tender saplings — first seek to 

shelter these. 
Then prune the dead wood from the trunks of old 

matured trees. 



POEMS. 85 

It is thine to raise the fallen, and in God's holy name 
To save the young and virtuous from error, sin and 

shame ; 
To break the "devil's chain," and free the drunkard 

from the spell 
That shuts the doors of Heav'n and opens wide the 

gates of hell ! 
bend thee to thy duty, 'tis a noble work and brave 
That nerves the heart to mighty deeds a sinking soul 

to save! 
Art thou better than thy blaster who ne'er question 'd 

if 'twas meet 
That with publicans and sinners He should conde- 
scend to eat? 
0, do not hesitate to stoop, though loathsome be the 

task ; 
Remember Him who came to save, and let thy spirit 

ask 
For His indwelling influence, and strength to do His 

will, 
Whether along the valley or high up upon the hill. 

Do not wait to count thy talents, whether they be ten 
or two, 

Do not waste thine hours thinking if there's any 
place for you ; 

Look around thee, in the workshop, on the street, 
where'er thou be, 

]\lany precious souls are drifting down the current to 
death's sea — 

Haste thee, quick, no time to parley while a soul im- 
mortal pleads 



86 POEMS. 

To thy smpathy for rescue, as it towards the rapids 
speeds. 

Thou art thy brother's keeper, unto thee tliis trust is 

given, 
For its perfect consummation thou must answer make 

in Heav'n — 
First thou shalt love with all thy strength tlie Lord 

thy God, and then 
Thy heart's deep yearnings must go out to all thy 

fellow-men. 
Be very patient with the weak, nor chide them when 

they fall; 
As God in mercy pities us, so let us pity all. 

There are wretched homes all darkness, go take to 

them the light; 
There are cruel wrongs and jealousies thy counsel 

could put right; 
There are hearts that weep in solitude for husband 

or for son, 
O, take to such thy sympathy, go seek the erring one ; 
Lift up the cross before the eyes of those who hopeless 

stray, 
And tell them o'er and o'er again the tale of Calvary. 

The oft-repeated kindly word may bring a blessing 

down, 
And reason, though a time dethroned, may wear a 

saintly crown; 
And happiness and holy trust once more shall sweetly 

reign. 



POEMS. 87 

God gives the seed that thou dost sow, He too will 

give the grain. 
Then labour on with prayerful trust, nor faint thou 

by the way, 
God will reward thee with thy sheaves on His great 

harvest day ! 



OBITaARY. 



(Written on the Death of the Young Daughter 
OF A Friend.) 

The Reaper came, and thrust his sickle in, 
An angel follow 'd, gath'ring up the grain; 
The Seraph host, in one harmonious strain. 

Welcome our sister from a w^orld of sin. 

Not now^, as darkly through a glass, she seeth. 
But face to face, with vision glorified. 
Doth she behold the living Christ, w^ho died, 

And to His arms her soul enraptured fleeth. 

Her place is vacant, yet, such faith is ours, 
We only know a consecrated grief — 
This separation hopeful is and brief! 

True hearts, true lives, defy grim death's dark pow'rs ! 

Then may each link, from earth 's love-chain now riven. 
Be one more link to that which binds to heaven. 



^ SO FORM THY LIFE. 

Cold is the heart that never throb 'd with love, 
Dead is the soul that pity cannot move ; ' 



88 POEMS. 

And angels from their holy seat above 

Weep for the man of whom they oan't approve. 

Few are our days, and fleeting fast away, 

The sands of Time keep dropping swiftly on, 

And to the old, the frail, the young, and gay. 
Too surely comes the summons when, anon. 
Earth, pleasure, time, repentance — all are gone. 

Oh ! man, while yet thy days are in their prime. 
And opportunities o'erflow the earth, 

Let heart and soul, with impulses sublime. 

To holy thought and actions pure give birth. 

Be thine the path wherein the saints have trod. 
And thine the lamp that shone upon their way. 

Cheering thy soul's sweet pilgrimage to God, 
Around whose throne, in heavenly array. 
These saints of old enjoy eternal day. 

So form thy life — yea, so mete out thy time 

The great Supreme Command to consummate, 

With heart and soul to love the King Divine, 
And as thyself thy neighbor. God is great. 

And greatly to be fear'd; this bear in mind, 

Lest thou, perhaps, incur the Lord's displeasure. 

To all thy kindred here on earth be kind. 

As thou wouldst have of mercy thy full measure, 
So mercy show to man, God's rarest treasure. 

Permit the tear of sympathy to flow. 

Nor stay the hand that stretcheth forth to aid 
A brother, who, perchance, hath fallen low. 

Yet mourns the sin that doth his soul degrade. 
Oh! whisper comfort softly in his ear. 



POEMS. 89 

To him the hand of fellowship extend ; 
With gentle words his drooping spirits cheer, 
And speak to him of man's eternal Friend, 
Whose tender, loving mercy knows no end. 

Oh! when life's battle draweth to a close, 

And ceased the warfare wherein thou hast striv'n. 
When death with mighty arm subdues thy woes. 

And in the grave all earthly bonds are riv'n, 
Then shall thy soul in purity ascend, 

'Mid rays of sacred light, on pinions free. 
To world's celestial, where shall never end 

The soul's sweet song of heaven-born revelry. 

Then, Death, where is thy sting? — where. Grave 
thy victory? 
Belfast, January 3, 1872. 



LINES. 

(Written in a Lady^s Album.) 

Dear friend, your invitation I accept, 
Though I the task reluctantly engage; 

For better far the Muse forever slept 

Than soil with thought impure the virgin page. 

I write, yet tremble lest my feeble mind 

Should fail to scatter e'en one seed of good. 

Or stir within the breast a feeling kind. 

Or move a heart by nature harsh and rude. 

We creatures of the world, poor, feeble, vain. 
Too oft forget that we immortal are; 



90 POEMS. 

And seek, alas ! in earth 's pursuits to gain 

That joy that doth the soul's dear prospects mar. 

We launch our barque on pleasure's fickle tide, 
Oblivious of the dangers right ahead, 

Till, all too late, the ruin we defied 

Sweeps o'er the soul, and tells us hope is dead. 

Too often do our selfish cravings chill 
Those feelings that ennoble and adorn. 

Where sympathy would save, how oft we kill 
Some pleading spirit with a barb of scorn ? 

A word of kindness whisper 'd in the ear 

Would soothe the tumult in the troubled breast ; 

A look, a smile, a little act would cheer 

The aching heart, and give the bosom rest. 

Then may we by Divine example learn — 

While plodding on this pilgrimage of ours — 

To feel for those whose hearts with sorrows burn, 
And scatter 'mongst the thorns sweet fragrant 
flow 'rs. 

May we look up with penetrating gaze 

Till we the City of the Blest discover ; 
Then, freed from earth's unhallow'd, bitter ways, 

Rest wdth the saints in Paradise forever. 
Belfast, October, 1874. 



POEMS, 91 

IN j\IEMORIA]\I. 

Henry W. Longfellow, 
Born Fchruarij 27, 1807; Died March 24, 1882. 

The great, the noble, and the good, 

The heav'nly minded and the true. 
The man who could a world so rude 

With purest sentiments imbue — 
Hath passed away; but ere he went 

Gave to the world Truth's glorious song. 
Whose sounds to Heaven are daily sent, 
And echo'd by the seraph throng — 
Then, wafted back to earth again, 

More hallowing in power and tone. 
They melt the callous hearts of men, 

Who learn the Saviour's love to own. 

Dear poet, friend, translated now 

From earth, vrhere thy great work is done, 
I mourn thy loss, yet, trustful bow, 

And share the triumph thou hast won ; 
In so far as my heart would lead 

]\Iy steps through paths wherein thou 'st trod, 
Like thee, to daily feel my need; 

Like thee, to draw my strength from God ; 
And like thee, too, to leave behind 

Deep footprints on life's chequered road, 
Which, seeing, some poor doubting mind 

i\Iay gain fresh strength to bear its load. 

Mine is not grief that blinds the sight. 
Or steeps the heart in hopeless pain. 



92 POEMS. 

'Tis but the shadows of the night, 

The morning's sun will shine again- 
Shine on the bright eternal shore, 
Yes, changeless, shine for evermore. 
April 3, 1882. 



IF YOU LOVE ME, SAY SO. 

If you love me, say so. 
Better far for me (and you). 
Whatsoe'er we think or do. 
To be honest, bold, and true. 

If you love me, say so. 

If you love me, say so. 
Not in radiant looks and smiles, 
Not in vain coquettish wiles. 
Speak, it is your voice beguiles — 

If you love me, say so. 

If you love me, say so. 
Put your hand in mine and say 
That you love me day by day ; 
Not let doubt my heart betray — 

If you love me, say so. 

If you love me, say so. 
And I'll guard you every hour. 
As I would a tender flower ; 
Ne'er on you shall sorrow lov/er; 

If you love me, say so. 

If you do not love me. 
Do not act deception's part — 



POEMS. 93 



Do not trifle with my heart — 
Speak the truth, bid me depart, 
If you do not love me. 

If you do not love me. 
Through the busy field of life, 
Battling in the com.mon strife, 
I shall surely find a wife. 

Though you may not love me. 
Belfast, October, 1874. 



SPRINGTIME DREAMINGS. 

I love the lovely fresh young Spring 
As it dons its garments green ; 

I love it for the memories 
Reflected in its sheen; 

I welcome it, though shadows come 
Its golden rays between. 

I love it for its fragrant flow'rs. 

And for its birds of song ; 
The refloresence of its bow'rs 

Awaken visions strong 
Of those with whom, in sunny hours, 

I've roam'd the whole day long. 

On retrospective wdng it bears 
Me back to childhood 's day ; 

That happy season ere earth's cares 
Had met life's joyous w^ay. 

When Liz, Belle, Mollie, Matt, and Dick, 
And I were one at play. 



94 POEMS. 

How oft we've scampered to and fro, 
Through wood and daisied field, 

And every spot we trod upon 
Some hidden joy revealed ; 

Ah ! never yet could city life 
Such holy pleasures yield. 

Old Time hath wrought no change on thee, 
Sweet Spring ! still young and fair, 

But gone to rest are many who 
With me thy charms did share, 

And years, and sorrows, both have shook 
Their dust upon my hair. 

Thy birds sing sweet as e'er they sang. 
Thy flowers bloom the same. 

But in the Church-yard I can read 
With lone, sad heart, the name 

Of her who loved me most of all, 

Who blest, but ne'er would blame. 

Spring ! I welcome thee again, 

Yet with a heart subdued; 
And as I musing contemplate 
The brooklet, mead, and wood, 

1 feel my isolated heart 

With holy thoughts imbued. 

I think of that ETERNAL SPRING— 
The RESURRECTION MORN— 

When God shall to his Eden bring 
The flowers of life new-born ; 

There never from their parent stem 
Shall bud or leaf be torn. 



POEMS. 95 



I think of those who, gone before, 
Have donn'd their robes of white ; 

I think — and wish I too were o'er 
Death 's dark and solemn night ; 

I know that on the other shore 
Life is all young and bright. 

And we shall meet in fadeless Spring, 
(Those whom I love and I) ; 

No parting e'er again may wring 
From aching hearts a sigh. 

For God will then have wiped away 
All tears from every eye, 

And rest, unbroken rest, shall be 

Mine, Lord, with those I love, in Thee. 



FRIENDSHIP'S IMMUTABILITY: OR, FUTURE 
RECOGNITION. 

' ' But then shall I know even as also I am known. ' ' 

— 1st Cor. xiii, 12. 

''I see no reason, again, why those who have been 
dearest friends on earth, should not, when admitted to 
that happy state, continue to be so, with full knowl- 
edge and recollection of their former friendships." — 
Whately. 

To thee my warmest, purest thoughts are given; 
In mine affections thou art blent with Heaven; 
I look away beyond this world of care 
To changeless bliss, and know thou wilt be there; 
And thus, whilst here, Hope marches on before, 



96 POEMS. 

To where our souls shall undivided soar, 

And sweet anticipation strews the way 

With love's undying flowers, day by day, 

And dearer far the joys of Heaven will be 

When they are felt, and shared, dear friend, with thee. 

If, looking thro' the vail of Time, the mind 

No conjuration like to this could find; 

If with this life knowledge and love should die, 

Heav'n would be reft of Hope's most sacred tie. 

But, thanks to Him by whose all-wise decree 

Our love on earth throughout eternity 

Shall glow the same, but, purged and purified 

In God's own crucible, thus, sanctified. 

The bonds of holy friendship v/ill be ours 

Through every walk in Heaven's celestial bowers. 

When all the glories of our future state 
With concentrated thoughts we contemplate; 
To feel that those who to our hearts are dear 
On earth, we'll know in our exalted sphere, 
Makes us with faith immutable to see 
The Great Omniscient 's boundless sympathy. 

'Tis thus our hearts, sustained by innate power. 
Surmount the cares of life's most chequered hour; 
We trust, and trusting, see the promised goal. 
Where heart meets heart, and soul communes vrith 

soul. 
The doubts and fears that warp our passions here, 
Before God's light shall melt and disappear. 
And we shall own a higher, nobler sway. 
When earth and all its ills have pass'd away. 



POEMS. 97 

Then we with hearts ablaze with holy fire, 
To Jesus' praise shall strike the sacred Lyre, 
And God will smile upon the bonds of love 
First tried on earth, then perfected above. 



THE ARROW AND THE QUIVER. 

(Suggested by the Sudden Death, Through Acci- 
dent, OF A Child.) 
A bright little arrow of life has shot 

Far away through the gate of heaven; 
Its death, unstain'd by a guilty thought. 
Back to the heavenly Archer is brought 

By the Angel to whom it was given. 

0, let not your heart be heavy nor sad, 

For the arrow that's gone from your quiver; 

Nay, follow its flight with hope, and be glad 

That you for the Angel of Mercy had 
So precious a gift for the Giver. 

Burnished and bright, in His palace of light, 

The King your dear arrow is keeping; 
Yet a little while and your soul's pure flight 
Shall be in the day that succeeds the night, 

And endeth forever your weeping. 
then, as you enter the kingdom above, 
Your arrow you'll find in God's quiver of love. 



THE ORPHAN. 



With faltering steps a maiden trod 

The solitary vale. 
With tearful eyes upturned to God, 

She breathed her pensive wail. 



98 POEMS. 

Oh! Heav'n, she said, forsake me not 

In this mine hour of woe; 
But teach me, as Thou oft hast taught, 

Thy righteous ways to know. 

Bereft of all that gives to life 

E'en one unsullied charm, 
I sink beneath the dismal strife. 

In suff'ring and alarm. 

No hand now stretcheth forth to aid 

The orphan on her way. 
Alone, unfriended, and dismay 'd, 

I wander day by day. 

Yet, once the world its smiles did pour 

Upon my youthful brow. 
But all life's hopes and joys are o'er. 

And grief doth trace it nov/. 

But Thou, Oh! God, the orphan's friend, 

As Thou hast freely given. 
Give me Thy comfort to the end. 
Then bear me up to Heaven. 
Belfast, September 15, 1868. 



THE DAISY. 



Once more hath fair Nature assumed her attire. 
Once more the flowers peep forth in their bloom; 

And walking the fields, could we else than admire 
The daisy arise from its bleak wintry tomb? 



POEMS, 99 

That dear, simple flower of Nature's own choosing, 
The semblance of innocence humble, though pure. 

Still blends wdth the breeze, its sweet spirit diffusing, 
A power elysian o'er hillock and moor. 

Unadorned tho' its stem, so fragile and slender, 
Unvaried the shade of its innocent hue. 

Still doth it receive in its petals so tender. 

The life-drop of Nature's bright heavenly dew. 

That delicate blossom behold, oh ! how meekly. 

When rude feet have crushed its frail form on the 
sod, 

It smiles from its bed, full of tear-drops, so sweetly. 
And opens its bosom anew to its God. 

In humble obscurity still do we find it, 

The emblem of Virtue trod do^\'n on the w^ay ; 
Yet full, full of healing's the Hand that doth tend it. 

And keep it aye fresh in its beauteous array. 
'Tis thus that the heart, full of Virtue's sweet power. 

Shall bloom 'mid the scoffs of a cold, scornful 
world, 
And in the sw^eet light of a soul-thrilling hour. 

Awake with its banner triumphant unfurled. 
Belfast, April 11, 1865. 



WISH NOT TO HAVE DIED YOUNG. 

The Hand that formed thee in the womb 

Ne'er formed a thing in vain. 
His labour is not for the tomb. 

And would 'st thou there have lain? 



100 POEMS. 

He who hath breathed into thy soul 

The sacred breath of life, 
Would 'st thou repine at His control, 

Or sink beneath the strife? 
Would 'st thou reject the promised love 

To which the prophets clung? 
Or would 'st thou shun the fight of faith, 

And thus have died when young? 

Hast thou ne'er felt the sacred bliss 

Of pure and holy joy ? 
Or would 'st thou in a world like this 

No peace save earth's enjoy? 
Has thy young heart ungrateful grown 

To heaven's celestial sway? 
Or would 'st thou have forgotten flown 

From mercy far away? 
think again, nor wish that thou 

Had'st found a grave when young. 
But humbly 'fore thy Father bow. 

With heart and soul unstrung. 

! gaze not with a tearful eye 

On ruined hopes and joys. 
Nor let it cost thy heart a sigh — 

The things an hour destroys; 
One thought alone can soothe the breast. 

One sole hope cheer the soul, 
'Tis that of an eternal rest, 

And an immortal goal; 
Then rather let thy heart 's theme still 

Be that for ages sung. 
And joy in thy Creator's will. 

Nor wish thou had'st died young. 



POEMS, 101 

A YOUNG MAN'S MUSINGS. 

'Tis the serene, cool hour of night, 

The ghidsome sun hath gone to rest ; 
And moon and stars their tranquil light 

Breathe softly o'er earth's placid breast. 
All things enjoy a sweet repose, 
The very flowers their petals close ; 
Nature on all her rest bestows, 

While thou, my heart. 
In disappointments, cares, and woes. 

Alone have part. 

The dreamings of untutored youth. 

That built its castles on the sand; 
And falsehood clothed in seeming truth, 

Are changed by Time's mysterious wand. 
And backward gazing I descry. 
With aching heart and tearful eye. 
My hopes and visions fade and die, 

As doth the sun. 
When o'er the blue expansive sky 

His course is run. 

Grief has anticipated time. 

And done the work of years to come ; 
Instead of peace and joy sublime — 

Too vain regrets make up life's sum. 
And ere I've passed from youth's green way, 
J\Iy hair, alas! is turning gray, 
And I, by premature decay, 

Dare nothing crave. 
Saving the rest of endless day. 

Beyond the grave. 



102 POEMS. 

Vain world of idle pomp and pride, 

Of vague expectancy and fears, 
What patient, faithful hearts thou'st tried, 

Then left to drown in sorrow 's tears ! 
To worse than Death's cold icy hand 
Are changed thy smiles, so false and bland, 
While hopeless, helpless, lone, I stand — 

Life's prospects o'er, 
By thee allured, then left to strand 

On Time's dead shore. 

Thy work is done, and never more 

Can I thy servile creature be; 
Eternal mercy will restore 

The light that thou hast ta'en from me; 
And when beneath the grass-grown sod 
I feel no more the chast'ning rod. 
Oh! thou, my Father and my God, 

Sign my release, 
Prom earth's dark ways wherein I've trod, 

Bring me to peace. 



EASTER TIME. 
For thee I'd call from Flora's bowers, 
A garland of the rarest flowers, 
And they would ever breathe to thee 
Their message sweet and poesy. 

Then first of all I'd intertwine 
The Ivy, Hawthorn and Woodbine, 
The Mignonette should next in place 
With Fern and Jasmine interlace. 



POEMS. 103 

The Daisy then and Denmark Rose 
Would with the Lily white compose 
A triplet in my wreath, for they 
Do symbolize thy purity. 

The Arbor Vitae and the Balm 
Would, with the Bayleaf, give a calm 
And reassuring hope, if e'er 
Thy soul should some deep sorrow bear. 

The Heart 's-ease and the Violet blue, 
The meek Wallflower, but not the Yew ! 
May, in thy chaplet put a leaf 
May e'er suggest a thought of grief; 

For, Emmie, on thy birthday morn 
I'd w^eave thy crown without a thorn, 
Each flower would be the purest gem 
That ever graced a diadem. 

And blithest maiden thou wouldst be 
On this thine anniversary. 
And all thy life long, if that I 
Could conquer blessings from on high. 

But Heav'n is thine, in Faith and Love 
Still lead thy heart and thoughts above. 
And when for thee this world shall cease. 
Thy crown will be eternal peace. 



A BIRTHDAY WISH. 

My heart's devoutest wish this happy morn. 
Is, Emmie, for thy peace, 



104 POEMS. 

That love with friendship's garlands may adorn 

Thy life and home, nor cease 

To carpet all the corridors of time, 

For thee, with choicest flowers and gifts sublime. 

God grant thee on this anniversary 

His fadeless light — His love. 
May all the sweetest chords of harmony 

Thy hearty pulsations move. 
And those whom God to thee as, friends, hast given, 
Be thy companions on the march to Heaven. 

And if, by sacrifice and earnest prayer, 

Thy life could guarded be. 
Then I, thy friend, from every earthly care 

"Would surely shelter thee. 
And Heav'n its richest incense still would shed 
In sweet, refreshing fragrance round thy head. 

But not for mortal being here below, 

Is life without a cloud; 
It is the sun with brighter, warmer glow. 

Bursts through its murky shroud ; 
So, Phenix-like, the faithful heart will rise 
From out the ashes of its miseries. 

And should it ever be that for a time 
Thy cross thou needst must bear, 

Oh! then in faith embrace the Son Divine, 
He doth each sorrow share; 

A little while, and He will give thee rest. 

Thus to thy soul thy mourning will be blest. 



POEMS. 105 

LIZZIE. - 

God grant thee, on this day, 

A cloudless sky, a hopeful heart, 
A faith no earthly power can slay, 

That joy which is of Heav'n a part. 

True friends to smoothe thy pathway here, 
Kind hands to brush the vail aside 

Should sorrow claim from thee a tear ; 
Or trouble plunge thee in its tide. 

Fond hearts, wherein no selfish thought 
May with love's impulses compete; 

Leal hearts, by purest motives taught 
To sympathize in language sweet. 

With such associations thou 

Wilt find life's road less rough and steep ; 
And should e'er grief becloud thy brow, 

'Twill be less poignant and less deep. 

If any higher wish there be. 

Dear, then wouldst fain 'twere thine. 

On this thine anniversary. 

Adopt that vvdsh, and know it's mine. 

For there is nothing Heaven could grant 
Of good, but I would claim for thee 

Full measure for thy daily want. 
And rest throuhgout eternity. 

Easter Day, 1891. 



106 POEMS. 

THE SHEPHERD'S CARE. 
(Written Sunday, September 22, 1895.) 

Stay near me, my Saviour, ever near. 

That in the darkness I Thy light may see, 
That in my weakness I may cling to Thee, 

That I, in my soul solitude, may hear 

My Shepherd's voice speak tenderly to me, 

Saying — I am the Light, the Truth, the Way, 

Lean hard, I '11 be thy strength from day to day. 

And dv/elling 'neath the shadows of Thy wing, 
Sustained and stimulated by Thy love, 
I shall be strong, nor sin my soul should move. 

So long as to Thee, blessed Lord, I cling. 
Thus Thy rich promises I'll surely prove. 

And firm in heart and faith, I '11 fear none ill. 

For Thou, my Shepherd, Thou wilt lead me still. 



SIXTY POUNDS PER YEAR. 

Alas ! who knows the endless strife 
Of battling with an office life; 
Or who can tell the bitter tone 
In which the slave is driven on 
To sit upon a stool and write, 
From early morn till late at night, 
With notiiing save the sorry cheer 
Contained in sixtj^ jiounds a j^ear. 

Ah ! he whom fortune makes to brook 
The cold command and haughty look 
Alone can feel how deep the ill 



P0E3IS, 107 

In being master of the quill; 
Yet circumstances make him bear, 
With silent grief, his load of care. 
If he repine, his course is clear — 
But costs him sixty pounds a year. 

Still toiling on with burning brain, 
His spirit crushed, yet can't complain; 
Loaded with sorrows unexpressed, 
His aching fingers ne'er may rest. 
For him no heart doth pity breathe. 
No hands for him entwine a w^reathe. 
While trembles in his eye the tear 
Of hopeless labour, oh, liow^ drear — 
Poor slave, at sixty pounds a year. 
Belfast, February, 1873. 



THE EMIGRANT'S FAREWELL. 

Kathleen, darling, I must leave thee ; 

Cruel fate hath will'd it so. 
Sure it breaks my heart to grieve thee, 

But my love doth bid me go. 
For I dare not claim a union 

Which no joy nor hope could bless, 
When the heart's sublime communion 

Would entombed be in distress. 

Far away from scenes of childhood. 

Far aw^ay from all I love. 
In the strange and distant wildwood, 

Fortune may more faithful prove, 
Hopes that I at home have cherished. 



108 POEMS. 

Hopes of honest wealth to win, 
Have like summer blossoms perished 
With the sympathy of kin. 

Oh! if Erin's sons and daughters 

To each other were but true ! 
They o'er broad Atlantic waters 

Fortune's smiles need not to woo, 
Sure there is sufficient labour 

For her faithful sons of toil, 
If all were like friend and neighbour — 

Loving, living on the soil. 

Strangers come in mighty forces, 

Here they find a fruitful field. 
And for them our great resources 

Do a plenteous harvest yield ; 
But in England's mighty nation 

If for labour we should try. 
We will hear the foul citation — 

That no Irish need apply! 

Cheer thee, Kathleen, God will aid me ; 

Let us hope, then, for the best ; 
And when Fortune will have made me, 

In the far-off golden West, 
Heir to riches, peace and pleasure. 

Then I '11 to my native shore. 
And with thee, my soul's dear treasure, 

Dwell, dear Kathleen, evermore. 
Belfast, May, 1874. 



POEMS. 109 

MAN WAS MADE TO MOURN. 

Life from the cradle to the grave, 
Is but a checkered scene, 

i 

And strong must be the heart, and brave, x 

To bear its brunt, I ween. 
Oft-times the heart is well-nigh dead 

Through tyranny and scorn; 
Thus true it is what Burns hath said. 

That ^'man was made to mourn." 

The man of lowly parentage 

Plods on Oblivion's way, 
His cares his only heritage, 

And little else his pay. 
See how he toils from morn till night 

A poor man and forlorn; 
His food both scanty is and light. 

His raiment thin and worn ; 
And griefs that throng with -with 'ring blight, 

And wants in patience borne, 
Show how that he, unhappy wight. 

Was made, forsooth, to mourn. 

The lord who owns a vast estate. 

Though countless is his wealth, 
Hath disappointments just as great, 

And fails as soon in health. 
Thus sinful man, whoe'er he be, 

E'en high or lowly born, 
Must feel, alas ! how surely he 

Was made in tears to mourn. 



110 POEMS. 

Then let us learn, submissive still, 

'Bove earth-born cares to rise, 
Knowing the God of Mercy will 

Give rest that never dies. 
To all who put their trust in Him 

Whose brow by thorns was torn, 
The Righteous for the man of sin. 

That we should cease to mourn. 
Belfast, January 12, 1874. 



A BACHELOR'S ADVICE. 

These are peculiar times, no doubt, 
And men best mind what they're about, 
Ere they by pen and ink declare 
Love 's passion to some maiden fair. 
Consider ere you write the stroke 
That may, perchance, a case provoke 
(A breach of promise case I mean). 
With damages not small I ween — 
Two thousand pounds, perhaps fifteen ! 
The lady swears — it's all serene. 
You've got to pay — down with the cash! 
Let injured beauty cut a dash ; 
'Twill soothe her disappointed love. 
The cash, you know, may chance to move 
Some heart more tender than your own — 
The feathers plucked from false bird flown 
Will tempt some other bird to soar 
Where you have nestled oft before. 
Ah, yes ! 'tis true, your cash may hatch 
A very questionable match ; 
But what of that, sure virgin pride 



POEMS, 111 

Must stem the flow of scandal's tide, 

And beauty's self must not decay 

In an unloved, neglected way; 

And such rare charms as cash and beauty. 

Allied with virgin love and duty, 

Seldom the hungry heart enchants 

Of penury in coat and pants. 

The pensive lady you despise 

Will wake another's sympathies, 

M^ho, not excessively romantic, 

She (or your cash) will set quite frantic. 

Contempt for you he will express, 

The while he gloats o'er the redress 

Which wise and well-framed ( ? ) law bestows, 

And in his zeal he doth propose 

To wed the lady (and the gold) 

For which her modesty she sold; 

While you, who fondled and caressed her, 

Mourn not your loss, but glad you missed her. 

The lesson's good, though dear, you own. 

Then let sweet innocence alone; 

And in the future be more wise 

Than tempt the woman you despise. 

Your cash, by other means disposing, 

Will bring more joy and less exposing. 

It won't society improve 

To pay for disappointed love. 

Your heart consult, with care deciae. 

Ere you propose to make a briae; 

Nor lend your name to be a handle 

For idle tongues to deal out scandal. 

Methuselah Mildews 



112 POEMS. 

SONGS OF THE LOVED, NOW DEAD. 

The simple lays I used to hear 

Sung by the loved, now dead, 
For whom the tributary tear 

Of mem'ry oft is shed — 
Oh ! do not let them fade away. 

But strike the chords once more. 
They'll soothe, though they can ne'er make gay. 

The heart they cheer 'd of yore; 

Oh ! gently touch the chords again. 
And softly breathe the dear old strain ! 

It wakes remembrance sweet, of love 

That thrill'd in days gone by; 
And though its tones now sadly move. 

Still, do not let them die ; — 
For in their soft and plaintive swell 

Exists a power untold. 
To weave around my heart the spell 

So sweet in days of old. 

Then strike, Oh ! strike the chords again. 
And I will sing the dear old strain ! 
Belfast, October 8, 1872. 



ODE TO THE '^^LSTER GENERAL ADVER- 
TISER." 

Hail ! little paper, sweetly blest. 

Thy sides with peace imbued; 
Still may thy columns be impress 'd — 

Not with sectarian feud; 
But may the sun of joyous mirth, 



POEMS. 113 

Aye light thy pages o'er, 
And give to healthful laughs their birth, 
As thou hast done before. 

Shine on, thou little, useful lamp. 

Till thou a halo form 
Around those hearts which bear the stamp 

Of sorrow's raging storm. 
And when thou meet'st a lonely one, 

Oh! let thy cheering lore. 
Relight his lamp as thou hast done, 

For darkened hearts before. 
Belfast, December 7, 1863. 



WORK ON. 



My brother, sister, be thou steadfast still. 

Nor flinch when duty bids thee firmly stand; 

Work with a holy, pure, unselfish will, 

To drive this blighting curse far from our land. 

Thou art thy brother's keeper — bear in mind. 
To thee, to all, this sacred trust is given. 

To raise the fallen, and to lead the blind 

Upon the straight and narrow path to Heaven. 

Stretch forth thine arm the drunkard to reclaim. 
Nor shut thy heart 'gainst pity's plaintive cry. 

But breathe into his ear that Saviour's name, 
Wlio, sinless, came for sinful man to die. 

Oh ! Think of Him, and let thy bosom swell 

With pure philanthropy and Heav'n-born love. 



114 POEMS, 

Nor blush to save a trembling soul from Hell, 
Or lead a wanderer's thoughts to skies above. 

Oh, be ye faithful workers while 'tis day, 

For cometh night when work cannot be done ! 

With grateful hearts and ardent faith still pray 
That our great Temperance battle soon be won. 

With steady perseverance labour on 

This glorious consummation to complete. 

Nor faint nor weary in the work begun. 
Till victory triumphs over Hell's defeat. 

Work on, work on, they labour not in vain 
Who labour for the glory of the Lord ; 

Work on, nor halt to calculate thy gain ; 

Mortal hath ne'er conceived what great reward 

The Master of the vineyard hath prepared 

For those who have with joy his message heard. 



THE SOLDIER'S DREAM. 

The fagot blazed, the soldier lay 
In slumber's calm repose. 

And in a dream's elysian sway 
Appeared the battle's close. 

While one dear picture far away 
Before his eyes arose. 

And as he slept 

The soldier wept, 
To see his children at his feet. 
And hear his wife, in accents sweet, 



POEMS, 115 

While round his neck her arms she threw, 
And closer to her bosom drew, 

With silent joy to greet 
Him whom she mourned as lying dead 
Where Britain's bravest hearts had bled. 

A smile illumed the brave man's face 

While thus the dreamy spell 
Within his faithful mind could trace 

The scenes he loved so well — 
The cottage home, his own birth-place, 

Where he so longed to dwell. 

The bugle calls. 

The curtain falls. 
And he who felt the soothing gleam 
Of home's sweet sunshine in a dream. 
Awoke to find the battle-field 
Its sword of bitterness still wield — 

To see the gory stream 
Its tide of homicide still pour 
In darker torrents than before. 
Belfast, March 6, 1865. 



TO THE FLAG OF THE FREE. 

A woman's heart and a woman's head, 

Out of the blue, the white and the red, 

Conceived the Banner of Stripes and Stars, 

Symbol of glory, in peace, in wars — 

A grand old puritan woman, she, 

Who gave us this flag of liberty. 

For her dear sake, and the cause she loved. 



116 POEMS. 

May patriot hearts be ever moved 

(As under Old Glory's folds they stand 

And know it floats over freedom's land,) 

To deeds of honor, to truth and right, 

With trust in God, and strong in His might. 

Our doors are open to all who come ; 

And here the stranger may find a home. 

If to our flag and our country he 

Swear uncompromis'ng loyalty, 

Upholding our institutions still, 

With an honest, patriotic will. 

For in our Union never a State 

Shall permit a foreign potentate 

The National conscience e'er to rule. 

Or furl the flag, floating o'er the school. 

That flag is our Nation's boast and pride; 

For it and freedom our fathers died, 

And their sons must ever keep watch and ward, 

Our National honor and flag to guard. 

'Neath its triple colors, red, white and blue, 

May our young America's hearts beat true, 

And when life's battle for them shall end 

Their sons will the stars and stripes defend. 

And thus, unsullied, o'er land and sea 

Shall proudly float the flag of the free. 



TO A DAISY. 

Nature's sweet and vernal child. 
Offspring of the rocky wild. 
Humble born of low estate, — 
Still thou'rt not degenerate. 
Though the plowshare makes thy tomb, 



POEMS. 117 



In the spot where thou dost bloom, 
Yet a litle and thy form 
Patiently shall brave the storm. 
Type of purity and love, 
Trusting in the Power above, 
I thy simple robes review. 
Bathed in tears of sparkling dew. 
Full of life and health, to thee 
Each a sweet transparency! 

Raging winds which fiercely blow, 
Blighting frost, and chilling snow 
Seem to breathe thy final doom 
In the heyday of thy bloom. 
Still thy little, slender form 
Bursteth forth amid the storm. 
If but one bright sunny ray 
Sheds its warmth across thy way. 

Trampled tenant of the field. 
Thou to me hast oft revealed. 
By thy weak and passive way, 
Bending gently all the day, 
How that, on the w^orld's wide sea. 
We must act submissively, 
And while on its billows driv'n. 
Keep our faces turned to Heav 'n ! 
Belfast, April 30, 1864. 



118 POEMS. 

CHRISTMAS, 1883. 

(Written for Irish Templar.) 

Come with me to Bethlehem, 

There we'll chant our Christmas hymn, 

Sing of Christ's nativity. 

By the manger where He lay. 

Praise the Father, praise the Son, 

For the victory He won, 

For the mercy He hath shown, 

For the love that 's all our own, 

For the hope beyond the grave, 

For the life His dying gave. 

For His triumph over hell. 

He who doeth all things well. 

On this peaceful Christmas morn 

Was the world's Messiah born. 

Sing we, then, in heartfelt strains, 

Christ, our Brother, Saviour, reigns. 

While His condescension we 

Study with humility, 

Thinking how from Heav'n He came, 

Bore our cross, despised, the shame, 

Shrinking not from scoffs and scorns, 

Meekly wearing crown of thorns. 

E'en denied by those He loved. 

Though they had His goodness proved, 

From the manger to the tomb, 

Through Gethsemane's dark gloom. 

Hear His cry of agony 

*'That the cup might pass away," 

Then again : ' ' Thy will be done, ' ' 



POEMS. 119 



'^ Father, glorify Thy Son," 
''It is finished," as He cries, 
God accepts the sacrifice, 
Consummating thus the plan 
For redeeming fallen man. 
On this Christmas festival. 
Let us gather round and tell 
Of our bless 'd Saviour's birth 
And His holy life on earth. 
At His footstool while we meet, 
May our grateful tongues repeat 
All we know of tliat deep love 
That could multitudes so move. 
See Him as He stood and wept 
By the grave where Laz'rus slept, 
"While the Ipving sisters cried: 
"Lord, our brother had not died 
If Thou hadst not been away 
From us on that mournful day. ' ' 

Then He life gave to the dead. 

To the hungry He gave bread, 

Healed the sick, the naked dress 'd. 

Gave the heavy laden rest, 

Cheer 'd the sad, restored the lame, 

Loosed the tongues that still proclaim 

His omnipotence, and sing 

Praise to our High Priest and King. 

Sight He gave unto the blind. 

To the erring He was kind. 

Knowing well the guilt she bore. 

Bade her — ''go and sin no more," 



120 POEMS. 

While her vile accusers fled, 
Self -condemn 'd by what he said. 
On this holy Christmas tide, 
Casting earthly thoughts aside, 
Let us catch the sweet refrain 
Of the Shepherds on the plain, 
Shout it o'er and o'er again, 
' ' Peace on earth, good will to men, ' ' 
Hallelujah ! angels raise 
Anthems to Jehovah 's praise. 

As we celebrate this day. 
Lord, our Lord, to Thee we pray 
For new birth in ev'ry part 
For right spirit and clean heart, 
That anew to Thee we may 
Dedicate our energy. 
In our weakness let Thy strength 
Be so perfected at length. 
That when Satan tempts us, we 
Can sure shelter find in Thee. 
"Walking in Thy footsteps still. 
Though the journey be up-hill, 
"We Thy promise hear and see — 
''As our day our strength shall be," 
Soon the contest will be o'er, 
This we know, and faint no more. 

Praying, trusting, toiling on, 
Waiting for that glorious dawn, 
When our eyes without surcease 
Shall behold the Prince of Peace 
Seated on His Heav'nly throne. 



POEMS. 121 

By His ransom 'd people known, 
As they thronging round Him stand, 
Harp of gold in every hand, 
While the courts of Heaven ring, 
As they hallelujahs sing. 

May we in this mortal state 

All those graces cultivate — 

*' Meekness, faith, and gentleness," 

(Jesus' life was nothing less,) 

''Love, joy, peace, long-suffering, 

''Goodness, TEMP 'RANGE," everything 

That will Ghrist's own pow'r extend. 

And to man's well-being tend. 

Trinity of trinities. 

How they sanctify our ways, 

Giving thoughts and hopes sublime. 

Lifting us 'bove things of time. 

Strength 'ning heart and soul within. 

When weak nature 's prone to sin. 

On this Christmas, praise the Lord 

For the comfort of His word. 

For the promised life immortal, 

When we reach the Heav'nly portal. 



SONNET. 



Joy scarce hath breathed its sweet entrancing breath 
Ere comes a change that steals the bliss away ; 

Nay, e'en the idol of our heart in death 

Needs, like all else, to own the world's decay. 
In mem'ry only shall we feel the power 

Enchantment wove in youth's delightful hour. 



122 POEMS. 

How oft the flower that claims our watchful care, 

And sheds its grateful fragrance through our room, 
Reveals but briefly all its beauty rare; 

Then, oh ! too soon its bed becomes its tomb. 
Yet, thanks to Him to whom we owe our birth, 

A brighter hope to weary man is given ; 
When faded all the fleeting joys of earth. 

For him are stored eternal joys in heaven. 
Belfast, April 21, 1873. 



TO A LADY. 
(Returning With Her Daughter to America.) 

Calm be the sea o'er which doth glide 

The barque that bears thee home ; 
As peaceful still life's ebbing tide. 
Wherever thou mayst roam. 

We say good-by, but not farewell; 

For though the ocean sever. 
True friendship's bonds are forged so well 

They bind us close forever. 

And imaged still in mem'ry's page 

The forms of those we cherish, 
Shall cheer our hearts from age to age, 

With liopes that cannot perish. 

The holy light of friendship's smile, 

The words of kindness spoken, 
Form links so pure and free from guile. 

They never can be broken. 



POEMS. 123 

Good-bye, dear friend, afffection's chain 

Not e'en in death is riven; 
Though seas divide, we'll meet again — 

No more to part — in Heaven. 
Belfast, 1873. 



TO GOOD TEMPLARS. 
By Brother W. J. Nettelton^ Belfast, 

Good Templars, don your armor all. 
The King requires you now; 
Rise at the temperance trumpet's call, 
To keep your solemn vow. 
The enemy is in the field, 
A fiendish mighty power; 
Up, Templars, with your sword and ^'Shield", 
And smite him down this hour. 
Already many he hath ta'en 
As prisoners, and Oh ! 

How some now writhe in thraldom's chain, 
And some in death lie low. 
Awake, and gird your loins about, 
And for the strife prepare — 
God make each heart both brave and stout 
In faith, and hope, and prayer. 

The ''Star of Ulster' ''Erin's First", 
With holy fadeless ray. 
Will be as glorious "Beacon" lights, 
Upon our chequered way. 
And on our "Banner", spotless white. 
This motto will be seen, 
"Excelsior", by day and night. 



124 POEMS. 

In gold and purple sheen. 

Thus we shall "Forward" still "Advance", 

"Invincible" and brave, 

To "Rescue" from the tyrant's lance. 

And from the drunkard's grave. 

And when the fight of faith is won, 

And "Victory" hath blest, 

To God give all the prise and on 

The "Rock" of Safety rest. 



BEAUTY. 



A beautiful face is a pleasant thing 

On which to feast our gaze, 
A merry voice with a musical ring 

May demand our ardent praise; 
Or a graceful figure may charm the eye. 

And awaken a passion strong; 
But beneath the surface alone doth lie 
The beauty that never can fade nor die — 

It doth to the heart belong. 

And e'en though the figure ungainly be. 

And the face what men call plain. 
Or the voice not that which in harmony 

Breaks forth in a sweet refrain; 
Yet we with a kindred spirt behold 

The charms of true Virtue there; 
And our hearts burst forth from their prison cold, 
To the light of beauty that ne 'er grows old. 

Nor withers by time nor care. 



POEMS. 125 



'Tis a beauty disease can never touch, 

Nor the hand of Death entomb ; 
'Tis a beauty immortal, and shall as such 

Forever and ever bloom. 
'Tis the loveliness of a life divine — 

The incense sweet of Heaven. 
Those attributes pure of a v*^orld sublime. 

Which the Great Supreme hath given. 
It enrobes the soul in a robe of white, 

And fiUeth the heart with love; 
And the golden sheen of its holy light 
Dispelleth the darkness of sorrow's night. 

And leadeth our thoughts above. 
Belfast, 11th April, 1874. 



BY THY LOVE. 



By the love thy father bore thee, 
By thy mother's watchful care, 

Oh! young man, let me implore thee 
Of the drink-fiend to beware. 

By the bonds of death now riven, 
By the Saviour's sacrifice, 

By the sun of glory risen, 

Hell's alluring cup despise. 

By thy dread of death eternal. 
By thy horror of despair. 

Shun each haunt and scene infernal, 
Nor be caught in folly's snare. 



126 POEMS, 

By thy love for those who love thee, 
By the joys of endless day, 

Strong in Jesus look above thee 
Mindful of eternity. 

Blessed theyself, be thou a blessing 
To the fallen ones who stray, 

On their darken 'd minds impressing 
How that sin brings on decay. 

Speak to them in words of kindness, 
Gently lead their thoughts above, 

Pray that God may heal their blindness, 
And restore to them His love. 

Shun the wine-cup and the revel, 
Don the armour God has given. 

It will shield thee from the devil, 
And give victory to Heaven. 

Belfast, February 1876. 



TO A LADY. 

(On The Death of Her Daughter.) 

We mourn for the dead as if no hope was ours ; 

And, mourning, we censure the God we adore; 
Though He come but to cull from our love-bed of 
flow'rs 

The blossom he gave, and again will restore. 

Oh ! rather rejoice that the Lord hath thy daughter 
Transplanted from earth to his Eden above; 

Up, up to the seraphic host He hath brought her. 
And girded her round with His mercy and love. 



POEMS. 127 

He gave but to take, and His promise in taking, 

To you and to all who believe in His word, 
Is this — that the earthly affections he's breaking 
He'll purge, and unite them again in the Lord. 

Then let ev'ry flow'r of affection thus vanished 
Be a link in the chain that would bind us to 
Heav 'n ; 
And when from our hearts earth-born idols are 
banished. 
We'll realize all the sweet promises given. 
Belfast, January, 1874. 



STANZA. 



I do not know a greater pleasure than 
At eventide to walk the meadows green, 

Or cool, sequester 'd glade, where Nature's hand 
Doth paint Omnipotence on every scene. 

Divinely sweet, the heav'nly Artist's touch 
In grand pre-eminence displays the power 

Of that creative Being, who hath such 

Resplendent beauties shed on every flower. 

And all around rich incense doth arise 

From fragrant beds, where Flora 's children sleep ; 
The while from younder calm and star-lit skies 

Heav'n doth its pure, life-giving tear drops weep. 

And we (the creatures of God's master mind) 

For whom these charms sublimely sweet were 
made. 



128 POEMS. 

With hearts by sacred influence refined, 
Behold in every leaf His love portray 'd. 

The ear, attuned to harmonizing sounds, 
Drinks in the music from Aeolus ' lyre ; 

Never a false, discordant note confounds 
The melody that thus our souls inspires. 

Changed are our hearts, and changed our every 

thought, 
While gazing on the daisy-spangled sod; 
In each fair scene our spellbound souls are taught 
To look from "Nature up to Nature's God." 

Oh I ye whose sceptic minds refuse to see 
Almighty wisdom in these things of earth, 

Go, learn the love that fills eternity. 

And bow to Him who gave to all things birth. 

Let the immortal soul within you hear 

And see the things that tend to make you wise ; 

No more to infidelity give ear, 

Nor heed the voice that lures and then destroys. 

Go, pray that from thy mental eyes may fall 
The carnal veil that dims thy purer sight; 

Break, break the chains that do thy soul enthrall. 
And walk ye forth as children of the light. 

Belfast, 4th April, 1874. 



POEMS. 129 



MAN'S MISSION. 
Man's mission is to elevate 

And raise his fellowman; 
His duty to alleviate 

The wants of all he can. 

The true philanthropist is he, 
Whose sympathetic care 

Doth pierce the slums of misery, 
Of darkness and despair. 

To permeate the stagnant mind 
With God's most sacred truth, 

And weave an influence refined 
Around the untaught youth. 

Inspired with heavenly zeal he seeks 
The outcast and distressed, 

To whom in accents mild he speaks, 
Of pure celestial rest. 

The truest image of his God, 
And of the brave most brave, 

Is he who goeth out abroad 
Humanity to save. 

His heart of pity yearneth sore, 
His soul is sad within, 
And he beholds the helpless poor, 
And drunkards bathed in sin. 

. The wealthy prostitute their wealth 
E^or worldly praise and fame ; 



130 POEMS, 

The poor man goeth forth by stealth 
To comfort and reclaim. 

He buildeth not some high church tower, 

Nor monumental stone, 
But in the silent evening hour, 

He wanders out alone. 

Anxious to do his Master's will, 
The sick receive his care. 
And in the chamber dark and still. 
He invokes God by prayer. 

The prostrate listen to his voice. 
While he expounds the Word, 

That bids the wand 'ring soul rejoice, 
And lean upon the Lord. 

He knows the brevity of life, 

The certainty of death; 
And f eeleth, oh ! how sadly rife 
The tempter's fetid breath. 

He, conscious of the many snares. 

That do beset man's way. 
Goes fortified by faith and prayers. 

To work while it is day. 

Knowing that soon the night must come, 
When hope with day hath fled, 

And in the dark and silent tomb. 
We mingle with the dead. 



POEMS, 131 

Yea, thou thy brother's keeper art, 

And God hath will'd that thou 
Should 'st act no idle sleeper's part 

With a brand upon thy brow. 

! brothers, sisters, exercise 

The talents God hath given ; 
In Christ's name bid thy fellow rise 
And change his course for Heaven; 

And thine the promises shall be. 

When ends this mortal strife. 
To wear throughout eternity, 

The fadeless crown of life. 

STANZA TO A FRIEND. 

When sitting in thy room alone — 

Thy solitude disturbed by none — 

Dost thou permit thy thoughts to roam 

Back to thy childhood and thy home? 

Or have fresh scenes and forms removed 

All that was loving and beloved? 

Nor left upon thy heart one spot 

With youth's dear glowing mem'ries fraught; 

Or doth there frequently arise, 

Unfetter 'd, 'fore thy mental eyes. 

That season, when nor time nor care 

Had marr'd those scenes so wondrous fair, 

Ere yet the tears of grief were shed 

O'er purest hopes and pleasures fled? 

Say doth thy mem'ry still portray 

Some ling 'ring charms of youthhood's day? 



132 POEMS. 

The old loved home, the meadows green, 
The daisied fields — each lovely scene 
Where we in happy days have trod. 
And plucked the flow 'rets from the sod? 
No fairer type of one so fair 
E'er form'd a wreath for maiden's hair. 
Than did those blossoms wild for thee. 
Thou paragon of purity. 

If, then, thy mem'ry loves to dwell 

On days gone by, the charm-like spell 

Of which in bondage sweet doth hold 

My heart still captive in its hold — 

Oh, then permit thy thoughts to stray 

Betimes to youth's unclouded way; 

And on the page of mem'ry trace 

The smile that lit up frienship's face. 

And o'er the broad and mighty sea 

Breathe one sweet prayerful thought for me. 

Belfast, 27 June, 1874. 



TO KITTY CONNOR FROM HER WEAVER BOY. 

Oh! Kitty darlin', I've been waitin'. 
An' watchin' for your shadow, while 

This poor fond heart with ardour beatin' 
Long 'd for your sweet an ' sunny smile ; 

But well I knew you would not tarry 
For long within your lonesome room 
While out beneath the sky so starry. 
Your Willie waited in the broom. 

There's many a rough an' clownish fellow — 
Sure "Lowry White" is nothing more! — 



POEMS. 133 

IMight dare to cross the broom hill yellow, 
And hover at or near your door: 
But oh ! I bless you, Kitty Connor, 

That through the silence and the gloom 
You come to meet — my blessings on her! — 
Your Willie in the yellow broom. 

I know I'm poor, but who is stronger? 

Or who can labour more than I? 
My days will sweeter be and longer. 

While darling Kitty's standing nigh. 
And oh ! my love, when we are married, 

And yellow blossoms sweetly bloom. 
Again we'll go where oft we've tarried. 

And roam amidst the yellow broom. 

Oh ! blessings on her voice so tender. 

And blessings on her smile so sweet; 
Mrj heaven from every harm defend her. 

And every danger till we meet. 
Sweet Kitty, when we are united. 

And when at eve I quit my loom. 
We two y\dll gather, still delighted, 

Our garlands of the yellow broom. 
26 September, 1866. 



ODE. 
To The Belfast Morning New^s. 

Away, my disobedient muse, 
And never more my mind abuse 
With phantoms of poetic care, 
Or shades of languishing despair. 



184 POEMS. 

Away, I 'm proof against the blues 

While I've my pipe and MORNING NEWS. 

Away, all thoughts of pride and self. 

And thirst for worldly fame and pelf; 

Avaunt, ye tempters from the fold 

Of Cupid, leave me to unfold 

Those truer charms as I peruse. 

Through wreaths of smoke, my MORNING NEWS. 

Let sentimental dreamers dream 

Of floating joys on Love's strange stream; 

Its fatal depths I'll never sound — 

Too many barks have run aground — 

Too many faithful hearts lie drowned 

Beneath, allured by nectar dews, 

The which when beauty's smiles infuse. 

Farewell, those friends I would not lose — 

My fragrant pipe and MORNING NEWS. 

My MORNING NEWS, my MORNING NEWS. 

Thy clear type columns doth diffuse 

A knowledge suiting every age — 

The peer, the peasant, and the sage 

Alike may con thy pages o'er. 

From out thy pure exhaustless lore. 

Oh! is there one who dare ignore 

Thy powers to instruct, amuse? 

My faithful pipe and MORNING NEWS. 

Belfast, 8 July, 1874. 



POEMS. 135 

TO A LADY. 
After A Painful Illness. 

Bless God, dear lady, for that He 

Vouchsafed to hear our anxious prayer, 
Nor from our pleadings turned away, 

But deigned thy precious life to spare. 
A condescension so divine 

Demands our grateful, ceaseless praise; 
Then let our hearts as one combine 

The song of saving love to raise. 
Prostrate nigh unto death wast thou. 

And earthly skill no hope could give. 
Thy soul's Physician came, ah! how 

His loving kindness bid thee live! 
Around thy feeble frame he flung 

His arm of yearning tenderness. 
Life's chords by sore disease unstrung, 

His healing power with strength did bless. 
Then trust to Him thy loving soul. 

And in thy life his goodness show. 
Ah ! may His love thy heart control, 

And guide thy footsteps here below; 
And when thy earthly course is run, 

Dear lady, thou shalt hear the word, 
''Thou good and faithful one, w^ell done, 

Enter the presence of thy Lord. ' ' 



MEMORY. 



The Sun may shed his golden rays. 
The Moon her silver light; 

The Bard may chant his tender lays 
From morning until night; 



136 POEMS. 

And high the light- wing 'd lark may soar 

As though he'd reach the sky, 
While he, exultant, seems to pour 

From heaven his roundelay. 
But though the sun and moon may shine 

Refulgent o'er earth's scene. 
And bard and lark their songs combine 

To make this world serene — 
Still o'er my heart one great black cloud. 

So cold, so dark, so drear, 
Falls like some dread, ill-omened shroud 

O'er scenes and joys so dear. 
My light of life hath passed away, 

^y joy and treasure gone, 
My hopes lie shattered in decay. 

And I am left alone. 
Alone, yet not alone, for there 

Remains one lone, sad ray. 
Bursting from out my soul's despair — 

'Tis faithful Memory. 
Belfast, 9 December, 1871. 



John Petrie, Born May 30, 1791, Co. Down, 
Written for Mrs. Mojey, May 28, '74. 

Brother, on this thy natal day, 

We would our greetings send. 
May He who guards the pilgrim's way 

To thee His care extend; 
And as for fourscore years and three 

He hath thy strength sustained, 



POEMS. 137 

May He His grace accord to thee 
Till victory is gained. 

A loving brother thou hast been, 

A husband true and kind; 
A father who, with instincts keen. 

Imbued thy children's mind 
With knowledge such as doth through life 

The heart's impulse control; 
And through the world's unhallowed strife, 

Ennobleth the soul. 

On this the morning of thy birth. 

Brother, may joy be thine ; 
Such as consoles us here on earth, 

And springs from love divine. 
And when earth's troubles are all unknown. 
May we meet around the Great White Throne. 



138 POEMS. 

LIFE'S SHADOWS. 

There's a longing in my heart, 

A longing I can't explain, 
And oft to my eyes the tears will start, 

Of hopelessness and pain; 
And my life consumes away, 

In a bitter, keen despair. 
The while my soul is a constant prey 

To a crushing load of care. 

I long for the days gone by. 

For the cloudless sky of youth. 
For the smile of one from out whose eye 

Beamed the spotless soul of truth ; 
I sigh for the rustic shade, 

"Where never did grief intrude. 
And wish me back in the scented glade. 
With youth's companion, the lovely maid, 

Who sweetened its solitude. 

Ah, me ! I yearn once more 

For a mother's anxious care. 
To hear her voice, as in days of yore. 

When she bathed my lips in prayer; 
And to feel her soft caress, 

As she'd take me on her knee. 
And lovingly on my lips impress 
The kiss of maternal tenderness. 

So warm e'en in memory. 

How dreadfully weary and sad. 

And how lonely do I feel; 
Bereft of all that is pure and glad, 



POEMS, 139 

Life's shadows around me steal. 
Ne'er again for me shall sing 

The birds in the old oak tree ; 
The sheeny splendour of lovely Spring 
Can never more in its grandeur bring 

A hope or a joy to me. 

Oh! vainly, alas! I sigh, 

And hopelessly do I weep, 
For never until the day 1 die 

Shall my soul in quiet sleep. 
Then, Father of Heaven, ere 

My race of Life be run, 
Teach me, by grace and faith sincere. 

To say. Thy will be done! 
Belfast, May, 1873. 



TO STELLA. 



There is in sympathy a charm, 

That takes away the sting of grief; 
When hopes decay, and doubts alarm. 
It gives a sad, subdued relief. 

Thy words, ! Stella, sweetly fall. 
As dew upon the sun-parched flowers ; 

Such tender sympathies recall 

Dear memories of my boyhood's hours,- 

Ere yet the cold, rude blast of time 
Had swept across the path of youth. 

When unchilled fancy loved to climb 
The golden sunbeams after truth. 



140 POEMS, 

Ah ! then all nature seemed so fair, 

Clad in the Springtide's gay attire; 
My heart, a stranger still to care, 
Felt but the glow of living fire — 

Which Nature kindled in my breast, 
And fed from out her richest store ; 

Oh ! had I thus till now been blest, 
I'd rest content, nor sigh for more. 

Still do I love to feast my gaze 

On beauteous Nature's smilng face; 

To me her charms she aye displays. 

Though none with me those beauties trace. 

The dear, sweet sharer of each scene 
Hath like a dreamy vision gone ; 

And hopes once cherished, and serene. 
Are dead — 'tis thus I feel alone. 

Oh! Stella, Stella, did'st thou e'er 

On some sweet flower bestow thy love. 

Guarding its bloom with anxious care. 
As if through it thy life did move? 

Say hast thou watched it day by day. 
Till in full fragrant beauty blown; 

Nor, felt, on seeing its decay. 

Thy heart grow sad, and faint, and lone ? 



POEMS. 141 

But thou art right — there is a balm 

By which the rudest storms we brave ; 

A hope that gives a holy calm, 

And leads our thoughts beyound the grave. 

And as a lamp this hope will shine 

While we on life 's rough seas are driven ; 

A foretaste of the love divine 

That shines eternally in heaven. 

Belfast, July 2, 1873. 



One copy del. to Cat. Div. 



APR 1 ^91 



